


Random

by MiladyDragon



Series: Allison Cameron - Tomorrow Person [3]
Category: Bones (TV), House M.D., Tomorrow People
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Character Death, Crossover, F/M, Serial Killers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 78,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A serial killer has targeted an emerging Tomorrow Person.  Is this just a random attack, or is there something else behind it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Random

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third and last story in the "Allison Cameron: Tomorrow Person" series, I don't intend on writing any more. This story actually was nominated for a House/Cameron fan award, which was a surprise and I didn't win. It was written in 2007-2009.

 

Allison Cameron was leaning over the microscope in the lab, trying to get caught up on some tests that House had ordered on yet another patient, when she felt an odd sting in the small of her back.

Her hand was moving automatically to investigate, when the sting became agony, pain shooting up into her head and down into her legs. Cameron felt her limbs spasm, and she would've knocked over the microscope with her flailing if it hadn't been so heavy. She fell off her stool, slamming hard into the tile floor. And she couldn't do a damned thing to catch herself.

Cameron heard someone calling her name, but she couldn't respond. It felt like she'd gotten shocked by a live wire, only a thousand times worse. She couldn't think, couldn't act…couldn't even lose consciousness.

" _Allison!"_

Tim's voice echoed through her mind, and she wanted to answer but couldn't gather enough of her scattered thoughts together to form a cohesive reply.

_"You are receiving psychic feedback from an outside source. I shall jaunt you back to the Lab at once –"_

" _No!"_ she managed to send. _"I'm…not alone…"_ The pain seemed to finally be easing a bit.

"Cameron!" It was Foreman trying to help her. He'd been running neural samples at one of the other microscopes.

"I'm…okay…" she managed to say out loud. _"The feedback…seems to be going away…"_ she said to Tim.

_"Yes, it is fading. However, I would feel better if you were examined by either Dr. House of Dr. Chase."_ The biotronic supercomputer sounded a little more relieved.

"Stay there," Foreman went on. He actually looked worried about her. "Let me get a gurney – "

"That's okay, I'm fine…" Her limbs weren't shaking nearly as bad, and her juddering heart was going back to normal.

"You just had some sort of seizure! I hardly think that's fine – "

"I…think it was some sort of muscle spasm," she lied. "It's fading out now." She experimentally tried to move her arm; it did, but it still shook a little. Cameron tried to push him away from her, so she could stand up.

Foreman didn't move. "I'm going to get some help – "

There was a click from the door. Cameron looked up, and saw House standing there, pointing his cell phone at them. "Please don't let me interrupt you two," he drawled, "although you could've taken this to the broom closet. I have it on good authority that all the cool kids go there." He snapped another picture.

"Be serious, House," Foreman barked. "Cameron had some sort of seizure – "

"It wasn't a seizure!" she barked back. "I said it was some sort of muscle spasm – "

"And that's why you were flailing around on the floor like a dying fish?"

House snorted, taking yet another picture. "Great material, you two. With these I might be able to blackmail my way out of clinic duty for months!"

"Stop that and help me up," Cameron ordered, finally managing to push Foreman away. She held out her hand to House, and tried to ignore that it was still shaking.

"You should stay there while I get a gurney." Foreman was already on his feet, looking both concerned and affronted at the same time.

"Screw the gurney!" Cameron had finally had enough. "Damnit, this floor is cold and I don't want to stay the fuck down here any more! Get me the hell up…now!"

"Do you kiss with that mouth?" House put his camera-phone away, taking her hand. "If so, can I be next?"

His grip gave her enough leverage to regain her feet. Her legs were a little wobbly, and she had a pounding headache, but other than that she was beginning to feel like herself again. "In your dreams," she muttered."

"You don't want to know what's in my dreams," House leered at her. "Although if you're really curious I'm sure I can oblige – "

"Can you two be serious for just a minute?" Foreman got between them. The neurologist looked at Cameron. "Maybe someone should check you over, make sure you're all right." He was trying to sound convincing, but just managed condescending.

"I'm fine!" She threw up her hands in disgust. "Why don't you get it?"

Around Foreman's shoulder she could see House looking at her, the humor he'd been showing completely gone from his face. He raised an eyebrow at her, questioning. He evidently wasn't buying her self-diagnosis. "Foreman," he ordered, "finish up those samples. Cameron, you're coming with me."

She wanted to argue with him, but then he was about the only one she could trust with the real reason for her collapse. "What…anything to get your hands on me?" she huffed, keeping up the act.

He motioned her out of the lab. "Like I need an excuse?" He took a playful swat at her ass on her way past.

Together they walked down the hallway toward the elevator. "You going to tell me what really happened?" he asked.

Cameron sighed. She didn't really want to, but didn't have a choice. "I felt this…sting, on my back, then suddenly it was like I'd grabbed a bare electrical wire."

House pushed the call button with the rubber foot of his cane. "Does Tim know about it?"

"He felt me get hit. I don't know if he was able to get anything from it, though." She switched to telepathic mode. _"Tim, were you able to find out anything about what happened to me?"_

_"I was unable to trace the source of the feedback. However, it was a mental signature unknown to me."_

The elevator doors slid open. House bowed her inside, then followed.

_"Could it be a new break-out?"_

" _Yes, it could. Yet it disturbs me that someone breaking out could be in such pain."_

" _You're not kidding."_ House was giving her the evil eye, so she relayed what she and Tim were discussing.

The elevator doors opened, and House motioned her toward his office. She followed his gesture, figuring that was the most privacy they were likely to get.

"Take off your lab coat and raise the back of your shirt," he said, once they were inside.

Cameron sighed, but did as he asked. She could feel his sure fingers on her skin, and she repressed the shiver that started up her spine. She wasn't about to react to his touch, no way…no how…

"Looks like you have two marks just over the ninth thoracic vertebra, about an inch apart…Jesus, Cameron, they look like taser hits…"

She pulled her shirt back down. "That would explain why I felt like I'd been shocked." Cameron felt outraged, and would have been even if whatever had happened hadn't been to one of her own people.

"Well, duh…" House rolled his eyes. "Apparently someone hit one of your lot with a taser. Any idea who got it?"

Cameron shook her head. "Besides me, Terry and Danielle are the only senior active TP on Earth right now, and if anything had happened to them like that I doubt I would've felt it. Most likely I'd be hearing from one of them to tell me about it, and since I'm not…no, it must be a new break-out. That sort of feedback usually comes from an untrained mind."

"Then the next trick is to figure out where this person is, and why somebody felt like they had to do grievous bodily harm to them."

House had the knack of breaking things down into their lowest common denominator. Cameron would have grinned if the situation hadn't been so horribly bad. A new Tomorrow Person just didn't have the defenses to handle anything like this, especially if they're just starting to break out. That was a particularly dangerous time, when anything could go wrong.

And one had just been attacked.

"I have to find whoever it was," she stated.

"How do you plan on doing that?" House asked, sincerely curious to know.

" _Tim, have you spoken to Terry and Danielle? Did they sense anything?"_ She spoke aloud as well, so House would at least feel part of the conversation.

_"I have, Allison, and they felt nothing at all."_

_"Then whoever it was must have been practically in my back yard."_

_"That would explain the strength of the feedback, and why no one else felt it. I did, simply because of my connection to you."_

_"House and I both think the new break-out was tasered."_

_"That is disturbing news indeed. We must find them and help them if we can."_

_"We will."_ She sighed.

"So, how do you intend on finding this newbie?" House asked.

"I'm going to try to call out to him, and see if he can respond." The look on his face spoke volumes. "Wishful thinking, I know, but I can't just not try it."

Her boss didn't say anything; instead, he stepped toward the door, and Cameron was immediately grateful that he was going to act as lookout. She settled herself in a chair, closing her eyes in concentration.

_"Tim, can you link with me?"_

_"I shall, Allison, although this is best done in the Lab, at the link table."_

_"I know. But I'm afraid I'll lose the chance of any sort of contact if I get too far away, even with the increased power of the link table."_

_"I am with you, Allison."_ Reassurance flowed through their link like a gentle breeze.

Cameron took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. Her hands went into an unconscious meditation position, curled up on her knees, the tips of her middle fingers just touching her thumbs. Her mind linked with Tim's, the supercomputer adding his own considerable power to her own.

_"Hello?"_ she called, sending her thoughts outward in every direction. _"I know you're out there, I felt you. Can you hear me? If you can, all you need to do is think to me, and I'll hear you. I know you've been hurt, and all I_ _want to do is help you. Please, don't be afraid. I'm like you. You're not alone."_ Cameron fell silent, her mind straining to hear an answer…any answer.

She had no idea how long she sat there, waiting for a response that didn't come. Finally, she slumped, losing the meditative posture she'd assumed. _"Damnit."_

For once, Tim didn't call her down for language. _"You have done all you could. However, with the strength of the attack, there was a very good chance whoever had sent that feedback into you is now unconscious."_

_"I know, Tim. But I had to try."_

_"I understand, Allison. And we will be ready when the break-out attempts to contact you again."_

Cameron just hoped there was a next time.

House was watching her closely. "I take it there was nothing?"

"No."

"Well, that was to be expected."

She knew that, but didn't want House to rub it in. "I'll just have to wait, until whoever it is tries to make contact again."

"You mean you hope they try to make contact again."

That didn't even warrant a response. After all, House was just stating her own thoughts out loud.

 

* * *

 

There were a couple of things Special Agent Seeley Booth hated about his job, and this was definitely one of them.

He sat across from Karen Sanders. The woman had been crying, the signs were too obvious to ignore. But now, she was quiet…too quiet, really. Booth recognized it as shock, and knew if it were him on the opposite side of this situation he'd be feeling pretty much the same way. He wanted to reach across the coffee table and take her hand, but they were currently tearing a used tissue to shreds. Booth left her to it.

"Do you know of anyone who'd want to take your son, Mrs. Sanders?" he asked gently. "What about Mr. Sanders?"

"My husband is dead," came the monotone reply. "He's been dead for three years."

"I…I'm sorry." Booth was. Plus he was angry at whoever'd gotten the family background hadn't thought to include that little detail.

The blonde woman shrugged slightly. "It's fine. You didn't know."

He was going to have words with the idiot who'd done the background check. "Mrs. Sanders, I know it's hard, but I have to know if there is anyone who would want to hurt Jeremy."

She shook her head. "Jeremy's a good boy, a straight A student. He's popular too. He has a lot of friends."

"Would it be possible for me to get a list of his school friends?"

"Of course."

"Also, we'd like to check his computer, if that's okay with you."

"It…it's in his bedroom."

Booth made a motion to one of the agents in the room; the woman left, heading back toward the missing boy's bedroom.

The problem was, Booth didn't think any of this was going to make any difference to finding Jeremy Sanders.

In fact, the agent's gut was telling him this was all a huge waste of time. He knew, just as sure as he was sitting there, what had happened.

The press was calling the son of a bitch the Incinerator Killer. Booth knew what a misnomer that was, from the evidence of the four previous victims. Yes, their corpses had been burnt beyond recognition – well, unless you had a squad of highly trained squints at your beck and call – but that didn't have anything to do with them being put into any sort of incinerator. In fact, Hodgins had pretty much figured out the killer used some sort of flamethrower to destroy his victims' bodies. While they were still alive…

Booth was hoping fifteen-year-old Jeremy Sanders wasn't one of the maniac's newest victims. But Booth's intuition was screaming at him, that the boy had been grabbed by the very psycho they were currently hunting.

"We're going to have agents in the house at all times, monitoring all incoming and outgoing calls," he went on. "Is there anything you know of that a kidnapper might want from your family?"

Mrs. Sanders' hands trembled around the shredded tissue. "I…I don't have anything. I'm just a teacher! Oh, God, I don't understand what's happening!" Her voice steadily rose, bordering on hysterical.

The agent wished he could do or say something to comfort her. He knew how he'd feel if someone took his own son Parker, and could sympathize with her. There was certainly no way in hell he was going to tell this grieving mother that it was possible her only child had been grabbed by a serial killer.

"We'll do everything we can to find your son, Mrs. Sanders," he tried to be encouraging, but it was hard. Jeremy had been gone now overnight, and Booth knew better than anyone that the first 48 hours were the most critical. And almost fifteen had gone by already.

Booth had absolutely no respect for the local cops. They'd had the same bulletins as every other law enforcement agency in the tri-state area, and yet they'd insisted on treating Jeremy Sanders' disappearance as a simple runaway case. There was a damned serial killer on the loose, and instead of erring on the side of caution and calling in the Feds immediately, they'd taken their time, all the while this so-called Incinerator Killer got farther and farther away with his newest victim.

All the evidence gathered so far was just adding up to that bastard taking Jeremy. While it wasn't a foregone conclusion yet – Bones and her squints were working on that even as Booth sat across from a woman who'd lost her only child – there was just too much circumstantial stuff so far that just pointed in that direction. Also, Booth had long known that his instincts were definitely to be trusted in situations like this one. And they were screaming at him that Jeremy was gone, that he was in the hands of a maniac who would kill him in the most terrible way imaginable.

Unless there was some sort of miracle, the next time anyone saw Jeremy Sanders it would be on an examining table at the Jeffersonian.

The agent wanted nothing more than to find this bastard and put a slug where it would do the most good. But everything they'd found out so far had been a dead end…no pun intended.

"I…made him go to school yesterday," Mrs. Sanders suddenly spoke. "He…he wasn't feeling well, he said he had a headache…but I made him go." Her voice broke. "If I hadn't…oh God, it's my fault…" The woman dissolved into sobbing once more.

"No, Mrs. Sanders," Booth soothed. He absolutely hated seeing females cry. "You can't blame yourself. You had no way of knowing anything was going to happen. We're doing everything we can, I promise you."

She nodded, but couldn't answer past her pain. Booth knew there was no way she could've prevented this. In his experience, once a serial killer targeted a person, there wasn't much anyone could do to stop the inevitable.

"Agent Booth?"

He looked up. The agent he'd sent to check out Jeremy's computer stood there. "What is it?" He sincerely hoped she had _something_ that would point them in the right direction. If Jeremy had been targeted through an online contact…

"I didn't find anything suspicious," she reported, bursting his bubble. "The computer wasn't even password protected. As far as I could tell there were no hidden files or communications."

Booth thanked her. Agent Mead was one of the best, and if she said there wasn't anything to find, then there wasn't. They'd have to try something else.

"Did…did you think it was some sort of online predator?" Mrs. Sanders sniffled.

"That could've been a possibility," he conceded. "But since there wasn't anything on the computer…"

"I understand." Jeremy's mother had another tissue, and was absently shredding that one as well. "He's always talking to friends online, you know? Jeremy's been role-playing on a couple of groups, it's one of his favorite past times…" She faded out again, her eyes down in her lap. "I've never had to get onto him about doing his homework, though. He's always so good about doing it first, that's why he's getting straight A's…" she looked at Booth suddenly, her blue eyes boring into his. "Why do you think he was taken, Agent Booth? Why would someone want to take my baby?"

"I…can't say, Mrs. Sanders."

"Can't? Or won't?"

Those two questions hit far too close to the mark for Booth's liking. "Honestly, I can't say anything because I don't _know_ anything." But he could surmise quite a lot. "And, until we do, you shouldn't think the worst."

Mrs. Sanders nodded. He knew, though, that no amount of comfort was going to do her any good at the moment.

Booth thought about his own son, and realized he'd be the exact same way if anything happened to Parker.

He was opening his mouth to ask another question, when there was a sudden thump at the back of the house.

The woman's head snapped up at the sound. "What was that?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Apparently it wasn't something usually heard in the house then.

Booth stood, leaving the living room and heading down the hall. He drew his gun, not sure why but obeying what his sense of danger was telling him. He knew Jeremy's bedroom was on the left, just past the bathroom and across from his mother's room. The door was open.

Was it his imagination, or was there a strangled noise coming from the boy's supposedly empty bedroom?

He paused. The sound stopped. Booth thought it sounded like someone trying to talk around a gag. What the hell was going on?

Suddenly, there was movement. A head and torso looked around the jamb. Booth caught a glimpse of long brown hair, glasses, and a dark blue blouse before the woman – he recognized that, at least – disappeared back into the bedroom.

Booth acted. His gun out in front of him, he sprinted the rest of the way. He stopped just short of the doorway, putting his back against the wall so whoever it was couldn't use him for target practice. "FBI," he barked. "Come out of there with your hands in front of you!"

The noise in the room started again, sounding almost desperate. Booth couldn't let that keep up; he led in with his gun, sweeping the room with both weapon and eyes, searching for the unknown woman.

She was gone.

But, lying on the floor in front of the desk, was Jeremy Sanders.

The boy was gagged with duct tape, and another strip covered his eyes. He was flailing around with his arms, trying to sit up but failing miserably. He was making squealing noises around the tape.

"Get a medic in here now!" Booth shouted down the hallway, before going to the boy's side. A part of him didn't want to ruin any evidence that might be on his clothes or body; but, at the same time he couldn't stand to see Jeremy like that. He knelt, holstering his gun even as his eyes were still looking around for the woman he'd seen in the doorway. "Jeremy, it's okay," he said quietly, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're safe."

The thrashing subsided. A low whimper escaped the gag as Jeremy relaxed.

"I know you want to get the tape off, but I don't want to risk hurting you," Booth went on. "We'll have a way to get that off at the hospital, okay?"

Jeremy nodded slightly. Now that Booth was getting a closer look, there were marks on the boy's body that told a story of possible torture. Blood matted his blond hair, and dribbled out of his nose and over the duct tape gag. There was also blood showing through the open shirt, from small wounds in Jeremy's chest. His feet were bare, but there didn't appear to be anything on them, except for rope burns around the ankles. The rope itself lay in a heap on the floor next to the desk chair.

Thumping from the hallway heralded the coming of the paramedic. "We're gonna get you out of here, champ, so just let them help you."

Jeremy nodded again, even as the medic came in, carrying his bag of tricks. Behind him, Mrs. Sanders shrieked as she saw her son lying on the floor.

Booth got out of the way, walking to the once-again hysterical woman. "Let the paramedic do his job," he said, taking her by the arms and leading her into the bedroom but keeping her away from the agent working on Jeremy. He glanced over her shoulder. "Get an ambulance here ASAP," he ordered one of the agents. "Then get the forensic team in here and get everything you can."

As he was being obeyed, the agent went back to watching Jeremy. Questions were swirling around like crazy. How had he gotten back? He couldn't have escaped, not still blindfolded. And the ropes…it looked like he'd been tied up, and the ropes somehow removed _after_ he'd gotten into the room.

What about the woman? How did she fit into this?

And where in the Hell had she gone?

 

* * *

 

Cameron sat at the table, trying to listen as Foreman and Chase batted diagnoses back and forth, their words just going in one ear and out the other.

She hadn't slept at all well. She'd been awakened about 3am, stinging pain erupting across her chest. That was when the little cuts started to appear out of nowhere. Tim had tried once more to trace the psionic feedback, but hadn't had any luck at all. He'd tried to convince Cameron to come back to the Lab to sleep, but she'd declined, not wanting to leave in case the break-out had heard her mental calls, but that had meant she'd spent an uncomfortable night treating those tiny wounds as they'd shown up.

Eventually, they stopped, which meant either the break-out had lost consciousness or the torturer had lost interest. Whichever it was, it meant that Cameron could sleep…but she was too wound up for that. Whatever was happening to the emerging TP was disturbing in the extreme; that someone was actually harming an innocent made Cameron so angry she actually started thinking about what she would do if she ever came face-to-face with whoever it was. It was a really good thing the Tomorrow People were basically non-violent…if she'd been capable of doing half of the things that popped into her imagination, she'd have gone to prison for life.

The power this emergent TP was displaying was awesome. To inadvertently transfer their pain to her, even through this passive link…well, even Tim claimed not to have heard of anything like that, and that was saying something. They had to find whoever it was, and fast. There was no telling what might happen if it wasn't reigned in somehow.

Tim had decided at some point to call John and summon him back. Under other circumstances, Cameron would've been seriously pissed off, thinking that the biotronic artificial intelligence didn't trust her to handle the situation. And, if this had been a normal break-out, of course she'd been justified...but this wasn't normal at all.

She knew what she could handle, and this was a bit out of her depth. Cameron wasn't afraid to admit it. But John and Elena were doing some delicate negotiating on behalf of the Galactic Federation, and it was going to be impossible for them to get away immediately.

And, while she would have relied on Terry and Danielle to help…Danielle was currently flat on her back, seven months into a difficult pregnancy, temporarily unable to do much but monitor the situation mentally. Terry himself had volunteered to do whatever he could, but he wasn't really able to leave Danielle alone for long periods of time. Plus, he'd been ill lately, and House had done all he could medication-wise, but that still meant the other TP was pretty much out of the picture.

Which meant it was just Cameron and Tim.

Oh, and House. She couldn't forget House. Even if he didn't have any powers, that didn't mean he wouldn't support her in any way he could.

Cameron glanced up at her boss. House was looking bored, but there was that spark in his eye that just screamed that he was annoyed as hell. She just couldn't tell if it was at her, at her fellow "ducklings", or if it was toward their patient, who flat-out refused to get better.

It was probably all of the above, knowing House the way she did.

She slipped her glasses up onto her forehead, so she could rub some of the grit out of her eyes. She knew she should be concentrating on the diagnosis at hand, but her mind would have been too muddied, even if it weren't distracted by the absence of any contact from the break-out since early that morning.

" _I know you are worried, Allison,"_ Tim answered her wandering thought. _"However, at least we know whoever the break-out is, that they are not dead."_

That was true. Cameron sighed. _"This is just a nightmare."_

" _I understand. And yet you should not let your concern for the missing Tomorrow Person put your current patient in danger."_

Tim was right, as usual. Cameron tried to focus on what was going on, and mostly succeeded. The symptoms listed on the whiteboard seemed to mock her. They'd tried pretty much anything, and nothing at all was working. Now, with the heart going into arrhythmia without any seeming reason, it was one of the most frustrating cases they'd ever had.

Even as Foreman and Chase bickered, House was silent. She caught his eye, and he nodded slightly. Well, maybe he wasn't annoyed at her, then. Cameron had explained everything to him, and he'd taken it all in, in that way he had. He'd listened, and that meant a lot to her.

"You're a bunch of idiots!" House snapped. He slammed his cane down on the conference table; that would have made anyone else jump, but the ducklings were used to that sort of behavior. Cameron didn't mind being included in the "idiot" category, because at that moment she felt like one. "You're repeating the same shit all over again! Can't you come up with anything new? This patient is going to die, unless you get your thumbs out of your asses and figure out what's wrong!"

That was House's frustration talking. He didn't like to lose, and it looked like this time that was going to happen. And Cameron's distraction wasn't helping matters any. If she didn't get her own thumb out of her ass, she would be losing _two_ people, not just the patient they were trying to help now.

"We've been over everything," Foreman complained. "Nothing fits all the symptoms."

"Then let's figure out what symptoms _don't_ fit, and work from there," House snorted. "Because apparently something isn't right, and we need to figure out what that is before going any further."

"Maybe we're dealing with two different illnesses." The words were out of Cameron's mouth before she realized she'd spoken.

House looked at her appraisingly. "Well done. Now, that's the way to suck up to Teacher. Cameron, you get a gold star. So, which two are we dealing with?"

As they started brainstorming that idea, Cameron began to feel downright odd. It was almost like being disconnected, or like she was just regaining consciousness… _"Tim! I think our break-out is waking up!"_

" _Very good! Can you sense anything from them?"_

She couldn't concentrate, not there with everyone trying to talk over each other. Cameron stood up suddenly, knowing she had to leave in order to get some quiet.

Her quick movement startled the three men into silence. "Are you some sort of jack-in-the-box?" House snarked.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she answered simply.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, God, it's not your time of the month, is it?"

Cameron snorted. "Like that's any of your business!"

"Just means the reason you're so tired isn't because you're sleeping around."

Of course, House knew the real reason, but he wouldn't be House if he pretended not to notice. "There are more than one way to have sex, and they don't involve actual intercourse…but I'm sure you already know all about it." With that, she left the conference room, knowing she'd need to apologize to him later for bailing.

Cameron made her way toward the ladies' room. She needed to be on her own, and that would be as good a place as any. Besides, that was where she'd claimed to be going, so it would look really weird if she headed into one of the storage rooms instead.

The bathroom was empty. She went into the closest stall, locked the door…

Then jaunted back to her apartment.

She sat on the couch, trying to clear her mind of the cobwebs from last night's lack of sleep. _"Tim, I'm back at my place, but I can't stay long. Let's link and see if we can find our new TP this time."_

" _I am with you, Allison."_ His mental strength flowed into her.

Cameron shrugged out of her lab coat, in order to be more comfortable, then started her deep breathing exercises. She felt her mind relaxing into the bond with Tim.

As she calmed, her awareness of the break-out grew more noticeable. She stretched out her own mind, trying to reach out, filling her thoughts with reassurance and friendship. _"Hello? Can you hear me?"_ She waited a few seconds, and when there wasn't an answer, she tried again. _"Don't be afraid. I'm real, so you're not hearing things. Just reach out to me, and I'll hear you."_

There was still silence, but there was also a strange echo, as if her sending was being absorbed.

But suddenly there was a blast of pain, so strong it almost knocked Cameron off the couch. She fought the urge to withdraw, knowing she was so close to getting through to the break-out.

" _I shall attempt to keep the worst of the pain from invading you, Allison,"_ Tim said, worried. _"But I cannot do too much, or you might lose the tentative contact you have achieved."_

She acknowledged the supercomputer. The pain did seem to fade out a little, allowing her to concentrate of her objective. _"I can feel your pain. Please, tell me where you are. I want to help you."_

" _Make it stop!"_ came the anguished reply. _"He's going to kill me!"_

" _You need to calm down, okay? Just concentrate on the sound of my voice. Try to block everything else out. I'm trying to find you, so I can get you out of there."_

" _O…okay…"_ the break-out – it was a boy, judging from the mental voice – answered. _"You…you're real, aren't you?"_

" _Yes, I'm real. My name is Allison. What's yours?"_ The longer she kept him talking, the better Tim's fix would be.

" _Jeremy. My name is Jeremy."_

" _Hey, Jeremy. I know this isn't the best time to say this, but I'm glad to be talking to you."_

" _I…I'm just glad I'm not crazy."_

" _No, you're not crazy. You're special, though. Were you kidnapped? Can you tell me where you are?"_

Panic flooded the link. _"Yeah, from school. No, I don't know where he took me. I was unconscious. He did something to me, because I felt this sharp sting in my back and then I couldn't move. How can you find me if I don't know where I am?"_

" _We have ways of tracking your thoughts. So, just stay with me and we'll be able to trace you."_

" _We?"_

" _I'm going to bring a friend into the link with us. His name is Tim. Tim, this is Jeremy."_

" _Hello, Jeremy,"_ Tim greeted warmly.

" _Um…hi. Are you British?"_

The artificial intelligence chuckled. _"Yes, I suppose you could say that."_

" _Wow…"_ Suddenly, the panic intensified. _"I can hear him! He left for a little bit, but now he's coming back! Please, come and get me! He'll kill me, he said he would!"_

" _Tim, are you getting anything?"_ Cameron deliberately cut Jeremy out of the conversation.

_"I cannot get a fix on his location. Something is jamming my ability to trace his mental signature."_

Oh, God, that wasn't good at all. When that happened it was usually being done on purpose. _"Jeremy,"_ Cameron called back down her link to the boy, _"we're having trouble locating you –"_

" _Please, Allison! You have to find me!"_

" _I'm going to get you out of there, I promise. But I need you to do something for me."_

" _O…okay…"_

" _I need to picture your room at home. It needs to be with all the detail you can remember. Can you do that?"_

" _Allison,"_ Tim butted in, using the private link between them, _"you cannot risk having him jaunt –"_

" _We don't have a choice! We have to get him out of there, and fast. It's risky, but it's better than leaving him there!"_ She knew the dangers of jaunting, especially to someone who'd never done it before. Jeremy could end up anywhere, lost in hyperspace or even dead, if he didn't keep focus on where he was going.

" _You are right, of course."_ But it was obvious that Tim didn't like it.

Cameron went back to Jeremy. He was so scared, but he was concentrating so hard she could almost physically feel it. _"Now, are you thinking about your room?"_

" _Yes, I am."_

" _Good. I want you to show it to me. Just open your mind and let me see."_

An image came flooding into her brain: it was what she'd imagined a typical boys' room would be like, with sports posters on the walls and a pretty nice computer set-up. There was a shelf stuffed full of paperbacks, and the twin bed was covered with a blue comforter that matched the carpet.

_"That's it, Jeremy! Good job! Now, I want you to imagine yourself there, on the floor just in front of your computer desk."_

Cameron could feel it: the build-up of energy in her mind as Jeremy did what she'd asked. She linked her thoughts more fully with his, lending him some of her own power to help him with the jaunt.

" _Will yourself there, Jeremy! Think yourself home! Don't be afraid, I'll be right behind you!"_ She felt the jaunt take her, glad she'd thought to wear her belt under the long shirt she'd put on that morning.

Then Cameron was in the room the boy had shown her. The backs of her knees banged into the bed, and she sat down with a thump.

But she was up again like a shot. Just in front of the computer desk laid a boy.

He was bound, his hands behind his back and his legs tied together at the bare ankles. Duct tape covered his mouth and eyes. Blood matted his blond hair and dripped from his nose. He was struggling, strangled terror noises coming from behind the gag.

She knelt beside him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "It's okay, Jeremy," she soothed. "It's me. It's Allison. You're home."

The boy quieted instantly. Cameron turned him over carefully, aware of the wounds on his torso. She used her telekinesis to remove the ropes from his wrists, then did the same with his legs. She was afraid to remove the tape, for fear of hurting him.

There was a sudden noise in the hallway. Of course, someone had heard Jeremy struggling and was coming to investigate.

Cameron stood, heading for the open doorway. She peered around the jamb, and saw a man coming toward her, a gun held in both hands. Judging from the suit, she guessed he was some sort of federal agent, most likely the FBI, but the red tie he wore stood out like neon against the white shirt.

He appeared to see her as well. He came toward her quickly, raising his gun.

She ducked back around the doorway, cursing herself for doing something so stupid. If she were found there, there'd be questions she couldn't answer.

As she jaunted away, she sent to Jeremy, _"I have to go, but I'll be back. Don't tell anyone what you can do for now, okay? And don't mention me. I'll explain when I see you again, I promise."_

Cameron was back on her sofa. She stood up, wobbling a bit. That had taken a lot out of her. _"Tim, do you mind jaunting back to the ladies' room at the hospital?"_

_"Not at all._ "

She pulled her lab coat off the couch as the supercomputer jaunted her. Once back in the stall, she shrugged the coat back on, then unlocked the door and rejoined the others back in the conference room.

 

* * *

 

"Damnit, Bones, I'm telling you what I saw!" Booth snapped as he and his partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, walked down the hospital corridor.

Brennan looked completely unimpressed. "I believe that's what you _think_ you saw, but you know it's impossible for someone to disappear into thin air."

Booth ground his teeth in frustration. If she didn't believe him, then who would? "Look, I know that, but there was no way in hell that woman could've gotten out of that bedroom without me seeing her. The window was locked, so she couldn't have climbed out that, and after Jeremy just "reappeared" there wasn't a time when someone wasn't in there. We even looked in the closet and under the bed!"

"Then there has to be another explanation."

"Okay." He stopped her, looking her dead in the eye. "Explain it to me."

His partner sighed. "I can't. I don't have all the facts."

He wagged a finger at her, feeling like he'd just scored a point. "Ha! See?" He started walking.

Brennan caught up with him again. "What I see, is you jumping to unwarranted conclusions based on incomplete data!"

"What conclusions would those be? That a woman disappeared from a room with no visible way out?" She was starting to get on his nerves.

"There's another mystery you seem to have forgotten."

"What would that be?"

"Just how Jeremy Sanders got back to his home in the first place."

Booth didn't point out that, no, he hadn't forgotten. He just knew the kid's reappearance was connected, and solving one meant the second would soon follow. But, he had to admit to himself, it was the woman who bothered him the most. Was she somehow involved with Jeremy's kidnapping? The agent wasn't sure one way or the other. All he knew was that he had to find her.

The problem being, of course, was the fact that even his partner wasn't accepting what he'd seen. And, if Bones didn't, then how could he get anyone else to?

He smirked as they approached Jeremy Sanders' room. Maybe he'd have to find this woman first…

The agent on duty outside the door nodded as Booth and Brennan got close. Booth began to smile. Talking to Jeremy was bound to get some questions answered.

He held the door open for Brennan, then entered the room behind her. Mrs. Sanders was sitting beside her son's bed, and she smiled tiredly when she saw them. "Agent Booth," she greeted, standing.

"Mrs. Sanders," Booth greeted in return, "This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan." The women nodded at each other. "We've come to see how Jeremy is doing, and to ask him some questions."

"Certainly." She sat back down.

The kid didn't look half bad, for having been kidnapped by a maniac and then miraculously escaping. The skin around his eyes and mouth was reddened from where the duct tape had been removed, and there was a bandage just along his hairline. His wrists were also bandaged, from where the rope had cut. Booth knew, though, that under the hospital gown Jeremy wore were the worst of his injuries.

"Hey, Jeremy," Booth said, standing beside the bed. "I don't know if you remember me – "

"Sure I do," the kid answered. "You're the FBI agent who was at my house. I recognize your voice."

"That's right. I'm Special Agent Booth, and this is my partner." He jerked his head toward Brennan. "I know you've been through a lot, but we need to ask you about what happened."

"That's okay." Jeremy wriggled a bit, as if he were trying to get into a more comfortable position. "I suppose you want to know about the guy and everything."

"Exactly." Booth smiled encouragingly. "Just take your time."

"Well, I was walking home from school. I don't usually, I take the bus, but I had a really bad headache and decided I couldn't stand all that noise."

Mrs. Sanders looked particularly upset at her son's words. Booth remembered her saying she'd sent Jeremy to school even though he hadn't felt good.

"I got about four blocks away, when I see this guy walking toward me. I didn't think anything about it, really."

"Do you think you can describe him?" Booth asked.

Jeremy chewed his lip. "Well, kinda. He was about your height, but he was a lot skinnier. He had black hair, and was wearing this really fancy coat. It was kinda like the one Gambit wears, only black. You know what I mean?"

"Sure do." Parker liked the "X-Men" comics, too. "Go on."

Apparently Booth's knowing his superheroes put the boy to ease, because he suddenly looked a lot more comfortable. "Anyway, this guy came toward me. He made me a little nervous, but I didn't know why. He passed me, and I thought I was just being a sissy, but then I felt this sting in my back, and there was this pain and I couldn't move."

Booth knew about the taser marks on Jeremy's back.

"When I woke up, I couldn't see. But I could hear, and this guy is talking to me." Jeremy went pale as he thought back. "He kept saying he was gonna kill me, that it was for the best. It was so weird, because some of the stuff he said didn't make sense to me, but it did to him because he'd start sounding all happy about it."

"Can you tell me what he said?" The agent didn't want to push too hard, but he knew he had to get the details while they were fresh in the kid's mind.

"Um…stuff like, I had to die, it was for the fate of the human race. Just like that. I mean, the guy was nuts, right?"

"Did he say anything else?" Booth prompted.

"Not really." Jeremy looked pensive. "It was all about saving the human race. I don't know what was up with that."

Neither did Booth. Too freaky…but then, it wasn't the only freaky thing about this case. "It's okay now, kiddo. We're going to make sure you're safe."

Mrs. Sanders had started crying again during Jeremy's recital. She must be hell on tissues; she was busily shredding yet another one. "Thanks, Agent Booth. You don't know how much that means to us."

"It's all part of the job, ma'am." He turned back to Jeremy, finally asking the question he most wanted to know the answer to. "I have to ask you, Jeremy…who's the woman that was in your room?"

Jeremy's head cocked to one side. "What woman?" he asked.

Booth wasn't buying it. The kid knew _something_ ; it was obvious in the way Jeremy's eyes wouldn't meet his, and in the way his body suddenly stiffened. "It's okay, we only want to talk to her."

Jeremy shook his head. "Sorry, I don't know any woman."

"Then how did you get back to your house?" Booth pressed.

The boy did look up at him then. "No clue. One minute, I was lying somewhere all tied up; the next, you were telling me that I was safe."

"And why did you believe me?"

"I…I don't know," Jeremy stammered. "I…just did. Your voice was…different, I guess."

Oh yeah, the kid was definitely hiding something. "And how did you get to be untied?"

"Um…didn't you do it?"

"Agent Booth," Mrs. Sanders broke in, "what's this all about? You're acting like Jeremy's some sort of suspect!"

"I can assure you, that's not my intention. There are just a few thing we need to get straightened out." Booth was becoming more and more frustrated. He'd come into the room, hoping to have his questions about that woman answered. But Jeremy Sanders was blatantly lying to his face about it.

He was covering for this mysterious woman.

Which made Booth all the more determined to find out who she was.

"Look, my son's been through a lot, and I don't appreciate your questions. Maybe you should leave for now." The woman stood up.

Booth didn't want to go. He needed to get to the bottom of this, and Jeremy wasn't helping. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Sanders. I do understand that, and I'm only asking these questions because I want to catch the man who did this to Jeremy. And we need to know if this woman was involved – "

"She didn't do anything to hurt me!" Jeremy shouted hotly. Then he went red with embarrassment, clamping his mouth shut.

Booth turned back to the boy. "Who is she, Jeremy? We need to talk to her, she could be a potential witness to what happened to you." One of the agent's questions had been answered; the woman _had_ existed. Looked like no visits back to the shrink for him…at least not at that particular moment…

Jeremy didn't say anything; just kept his mouth closed and stubbornly turned his head toward the window.

"I think that's all for right now," Mrs. Sanders put her foot down. "Jeremy's tired. He needs to rest."

"Come on, Booth." He felt Brennan's hand on his arm. He'd almost forgotten she was there. "We can come back later."

"Maybe you're right." Booth knew when to retreat, and this was one of those times. As much as he wanted to get all the answers he needed, he could also see that Jeremy wasn't about to cooperate any longer. "Mrs. Sanders, if you and Jeremy need anything, just ask the guard outside. He can contact me." With that, he turned and left, knowing that Brennan was behind him.

Once outside, though, Booth couldn't help but crow a little. "See? There _was_ a woman in that room."

"I never said there wasn't," Brennan answered. "I just said there was a logical explanation of how she could have vanished."

Okay, she was right, but Booth was just stubborn enough not to admit it. "I need to find her, Bones. She could be a major piece of the puzzle here."

"I understand. Just don't let yourself become obsessed with her, and let anything we might discover about this serial killer fall by the wayside."

"I won't," Booth swore as they headed toward the elevator. "But she's somehow involved, and I think it's important that we locate her."

"Do you think you got a good enough look to describe her to Angela?"

Booth cursed silently. Of course, he'd forgotten about Angela. "I'm willing to bet I can."

"Then let's get back to the Jeffersonian. While you're working with her, the rest of us can get to started on the new evidence."

"Sounds like a plan. Then maybe Angela can work her magic with Jeremy, too." He pushed the elevator call button with a little more force than was absolutely required. Booth was going to find this mystery woman, and find out exactly how she was involved.

And began to think, if she wasn't an accomplice, maybe she'd be a witness.

 

* * *

 

"Good evening, Allison; Greg. May I get you something?" Tim's warm voice greeted the pair as they arrived in the Lab.

Cameron was still a little weirded out to hear Tim – and John, when he was around – call House "Greg." They'd both said they'd been given permission, but…well, not even Wilson called him that, at least not in public, and they were supposed to be best friends.

She'd managed to put in the rest of the day at the hospital. It had helped that her theory had been partially right: there'd actually been _three_ illnesses creating the diagnostic logjam in their latest patient. Once they'd been able to narrow them down, treatment was relatively simple.

House snorted, stumping down from the jaunting pad. "I don't see why you even have to ask."

Tim chuckled. "Coffee it is, then. And you, Allison?"

"Herb tea, please." She followed House into the main area of the Lab, the strobing light from Tim's housing playing across the back of his head. As they passed the scanning table, a pair of mugs appeared. Before House could grab his, Cameron picked them up using telekinesis and floated them over to the link table.

He turned and gave her what would have been a dirty look, if not for the twinkle in his blue eyes. "You want to warn a guy when you're going to pull something like that?"

She put on her best innocent expression. "Where would be the fun in that?"

House just turned his back and limped to the link table, settling into one of the tall chairs. Cameron joined him, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "Do you have anything yet, Tim?" she asked.

"A great deal, actually." The supercomputer sounded smug. "The FBI mainframe has been quite helpful."

"I'm not sure this place is good for you, Cameron," House said dryly. "You're consorting with criminals and hackers."

She just snorted, taking a sip of her tea.

Tim didn't seem to take offense at being labeled a "hacker." In fact, the colors sped up, whirling across the surface of the white housing, which Cameron interpreted as pleasure. "What I have found is quite disturbing," he said.

"This whole thing's been disturbing," she answered.

"Very true. I shall proceed then." There was a pause, then the recital began. "According to the evidence gathered, the FBI has concluded that Jeremy's kidnapper was a particularly brutal serial killer dubbed the Incinerator Killer."

Cameron shivered. "He's been in the news a lot lately."

"Indeed. However, he has been at work longer than the current press have reported."

House was sipping his coffee, an indifferent look on his handsome face. Cameron knew better, though. He was in mystery mode, waiting for Tim to provide the pieces. The only thing missing was the whiteboard.

The artificial intelligence went on. "The first victim was a thirty-year-old mother of two in Pensacola, Florida, two years ago. The second was a four-year-old girl living in Louisville, Kentucky, two months and five days later. There was a break in the killings of one year, six months, two weeks, and two days; then the third victim, a fifty-six-year-old military history professor from West Point was found murdered."

"Is there any theory why there was such a gap?" House asked sharply.

"The FBI profilers suggest that, perhaps, the killer spent some time in jail; however, there is no proof of that."

"Serial killers don't just stop killing. There has to be a reason for it."

"I agree, Greg. The FBI have tried to find one, to no avail."

Cameron could see House visibly filing everything away for further thought.

"The Incinerator Killer's next victim was a twenty-two-year-old bank teller living in Baltimore, Maryland. She was found two months and two days ago," Tim finished.

"And now Jeremy." Cameron shivered again. They could have so easily lost him.

"Yes."

"There doesn't sound like there are too many things in common with the victims," House observed.

"That has baffled the authorities, as well. There has been scant evidence collected, but what they do have points to the same person committing these crimes. Plus, there were the remains and how they were so severely damaged."

"So the victims could very well be randomly chosen."

"Yes, Allison. That could very well be the case. And that makes it more difficult for the profilers to do their jobs in trying to come up with a pattern to the killings."

"Is…is it wrong of me to feel relieved, that this is just some random killer and not someone purposely targeting Tomorrow People?"

"No, Allison, I do not think so." Tim's voice went into comfort mode.

'Then the others weren't yours?" House asked.

Cameron shook her head. "They were all too old to break out, except for the little girl, but it's possible she might have broken out when she got older. And if anyone of them had been full-blown TP's – "

"You would've sensed them die," House finished.

"Exactly." Despite Tim's words, Cameron couldn't help but feel bad about being glad there'd only been one Tomorrow Person involved, and that one by accident. She'd gotten that same paranoia gene that all _Homo Superior_ were imbued with, and it had kicked into overdrive at the thought that someone out there might have a way to figure out who was a potential TP and get to them before they broke out.

"What can else can you tell us about this maniac?" House asked.

"I can relate details of the autopsies on the victims," Tim answered helpfully.

House's face lit up like he'd just been offered a great big package with a huge red bow on it. "Cool!" he said appreciatively.

"Must we?" Cameron questioned. The last thing she wanted to know was just what a serial killer had done to his victims before murdering them. She'd have enough nightmares imagining what would have happened to Jeremy if she hadn't felt him get tasered. If it had happened a couple of months earlier…he might not have had been close enough to breaking out and he could've died without any Tomorrow People knowing about it.

"So, are the Feds any closer to catching the bastard?" House asked, giving Cameron a glare that would've burned the flesh from her face if she weren't used to being on the receiving end of such.

"Unfortunately, no," the artificial intelligence answered. "The evidence is extremely scant, but consistent from one crime scene to another. The use of a taser to incapacitate his victims is one of the solid leads they have. And, this is due simply because the killer chooses not to remove the leads. Apparently he feels safe in leaving them behind."

"Maybe Jeremy can tell us more."

"That is a viable hypothesis, Allison. Have you contacted him since you had to leave him?"

"No. Since he's such a new telepath, I was afraid he might be prone to talking out loud while trying to speak telepathically, and someone might overhear."

"That is a point. I have been able to find out that Jeremy is in D.C. General, and to ascertain his condition. He suffered fourteen cuts across his torso, of varying depths, and a mild concussion. He will make a full recovery."

"Great. I should go and talk to him."

"Is that wise, Allison?"

"Yeah, Cameron. Not exactly the smartest thing, especially if that Fed got a look at you."

She was seriously wishing she hadn't mentioned that to House. "I doubt he got that good a look. Besides, I'm the one Jeremy spoke to…unless you count Tim, and he can't leave the Lab for obvious reasons."

Tim chuckled at that.

"So it's up to me," Cameron replied. "We really need to reassure him, so he doesn't think he's alone."

"Or think you were a figment of his imagination," House added. "Although, you can visit my imagination anytime…"

Cameron rolled her eyes. No other comment was required.

"Jeremy is under guard currently," Tim put in, ignoring House.

"Good. They're taking his safety seriously."

"I can get you identification that will allow you access to the floor where Jeremy is," the computer went on.

"Thanks, Tim."

"You are quite welcome."

 

* * *

 

Thanks to her "doctored" ID, Cameron pretty much had the run of the hospital. She blended in with the rest of the nurses on duty, taking the demotion gladly since nurses were generally less noticed than doctors.

And the last thing she wanted was to be noticed.

She could've jaunted to Jeremy's room, but thought it might cause too many questions with the FBI agent on duty if he happened to hear her inside. Tim had actually been able to show her feeds from the security cameras on the ward where Jeremy was. That way she wouldn't look like she didn't have a clue where she was.

Cameron nodded to the guard as she entered the boy's room. The man nodded back, smiling, his eyes giving her the once over. Well, maybe there'd be one person who'd remember her.

Jeremy was alone in the room, but then Cameron had known that, too. Tim had reported when his mother had left, giving her a clear field. She walked up to the IV stand, checking the medication as it flowed into his arm.

She smiled at him, not saying anything. He didn't look all that bad, considering what he'd been through. Cameron picked up the chart, looking at it and approving of the treatment he was receiving. Ah, he was fifteen. That would've been her guess.

Cameron could feel his mental presence. She wanted to see if he could sense hers, so she just bustled around the room, doing nurse-like things.

"You're her, aren't you?" came the sharp question from the bed. "You're Allison."

She grinned. "I was hoping you'd recognize me." She came and sat down on the bed next to him.

"I can feel you, in my head! Wow, I can't believe this is happening!" Jeremy was practically bouncing.

"It is, believe it. What's happening is natural, and there are more of us out there than just the two of us."

He looked at her, his blue eyes wide with awe. "You mean we're like superheroes?"

Cameron laughed. "I guess you could say that." She explained briefly, not wanting the agent on the door to get suspicious of her long presence in the room.

When she was finished, Jeremy was even more excited. "That's so cool! When can I start learning about my powers? Oh, this is just freaking awesome!"

"Now, I have to warn you. You can't tell anyone about what we can do, it's too dangerous right now. There are people out there who would love to able to study one of us, and we can't let that happen."

Jeremy's excitement waned. "What about my mom?"

"Oh, we definitely tell her. You have no idea how helpful parents can be. I know mine were." She'd leave that to John. He was really good at that sort of thing. "Now, I'm going to have to leave. But I wanted to know if there was anything you can tell me about what happened to you."

"Sure. The guy was so totally whacked, you know? He kept going on about how he was going to kill me, and that it was best for the planet. How he was protecting the world." The boy had gone somewhat pale at the memories. "It didn't make sense to me at all."

Cameron felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Jeremy was right; the man had been crazy. But she had to wonder what he'd meant by telling the boy that. Had the killer known about Jeremy's true nature after all? Or had it been just the insane ramblings of a man with very little grasp on reality?

"What's wrong?" the boy asked.

She shook herself out of her reverie. "Just thinking, that's all. Look, I should go now. But I'll be back, I promise. And I might be able to bring friends."

"Do I get to meet Tim?"

"Yes, eventually. He doesn't leave our Lab, so you'll have to go there to meet him." She'd explain about Tim later, as well.

The boy went serious once more. "They…they're trying to find the guy who…took me. When they do, I'll have to go to court."

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "And I'll be there with you. But it's still a good idea if you don't tell anyone about me. Not yet, anyway."

"That FBI guy keeps asking me how I got home, and I just tell him I don't know. It's the truth, anyway." He looked like he wanted to say more, and there was an echo of thought in Cameron's mind, but she wasn't able to pick up on it. She dismissed it as fear at what was going to on.

"Soon you'll know what you did, and how you did it. But for now, have you been having any headaches, or hearing any other voices in your head?"

"Sometimes. I didn't tell the doctor, though. I didn't think it was a good idea."

"You'd be right." At least there wouldn't be any revealing MRI's or CT scans. "I can help you with that now, if you want."

"Sweet!" He sat up in bed. "Ready whenever you are!"

Ah, she remembered when she'd been this gung-ho. "Okay, close your eyes." When he'd done so, Cameron continued. "Now, I want you to picture in your mind a closed fist…"

 

* * *

 

Cameron closed the door behind her, nodding at the federal agent who stood outside. She headed down the hallway, walking toward the nurses' station. She'd pretend to work there for a bit, to throw off any possible suspicion, then she'd leave the hospital the same way she'd gotten in – through the emergency room entrance.

House was waiting for her back at the Lab. She had a few more things to add to their information, and it was disturbing. What Jeremy had said rattled around in her brain as she did non-existent paperwork. She'd felt go much better when she'd believed that this wasn't a specific target on an emerging Tomorrow Person, but now…she wasn't so sure. Of course, the so-called Incinerator Killer could have been barking mad, but the comments he'd made while Jeremy was his prisoner hit far too close to home.

" _You are troubled, Allison,"_ came Tim's reassuring voice.

" _You're not far wrong."_ She told him what Jeremy had said.

" _This is troubling indeed. Are you coming back to the Lab?"_

" _I'm on my way."_ Suddenly she didn't want to wait any longer. Cameron headed toward the elevator, needing to get back to the Lab.

To somewhere safe.

 

* * *

 

Booth practically stomped into the lab at the Jeffersonian, feeling even more out of sorts than ever. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since Jeremy Sanders had mysteriously reappeared in his home, and it seemed they were no closer to finding the bastard who'd taken him.

He had to admit, though, he did feel a little better about one thing: with Angela's help, he'd managed to create quite an accurate sketch of the woman who'd vanished from the boy's bedroom. It was currently being run through the system, looking for matches, and Booth had had high hopes that he'd get some sort of hit from it at first, but it'd been almost a day now and nothing.

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she was some sort of witness to Jeremy's kidnapping. The kid had remained remarkably tight-lipped after his one and only outburst, so the agent had had to admit defeat on that particular line of evidence. Jeremy had, however, managed to come up with some details about his kidnapper; but then, Angela Montenegro was a master at getting more out of her subjects than even they knew they had. The problem was, Jeremy hadn't actually seen the guy's face. He could describe his clothes, and his voice, but there were no personal features to go along with them. Well, at least it was more than they'd had before…and at least the Incinerator Killer hadn't been able to claim another victim.

Booth had to remember to thank his mystery lady for that, when he finally caught up with her.

He swiped his security card through the reader, then went up the steps and into the main lab area. Hodgins was staring intently at a computer screen, and Angela was leaning over his shoulder, standing just a little too close for anyone to mistake the posture for simple friendship. Booth would've bet good money that Hodgins wouldn't have been able to catch someone as hot as Angela, but then he'd been wrong before. "Got anything?" he asked, coming over.

Angela stepped back a little too fast. Booth was tempted to tell her it was too late to think no one knew about them, but kept his mouth shut.

Hodgins didn't even bother turning. "I just got the kid's clothes," he answered absently. "I did find some fine particulates, and I'm running them now, but so far nothing."

"Damn." Booth was disappointed, but then what did he expect? Hodgins was a scientist, and an expert, but he was only human.

"Have you gotten anything on that sketch yet?" Angela asked, leaning against the table.

Before the agent could reply, Hodgins had turned, looking up at him with something akin to awe. "I can't believe you actually saw a higher evolutionary," he said excitedly.

"A what?" Oh no, the man was going into full conspiracy mode…

"A higher evolutionary," Hodgins repeated. "There've been all sorts of rumors about them for years, ever since the abortive alien invasion back in 1978. They supposedly have all sorts of powers, including teleportation. That explains why your witness vanished without a trace."

"So, you're saying my witness just…teleported." Booth didn't even bother phrasing it in the form of a question. God, was there nothing this guy wasn't into?

"Sure. The government's known about them, but of course they won't admit that there's a master race evolving out there. It's too scary for them to face."

"Yeah. Whatever." Booth dismissed the rambling, instead addressing Angela. "No, nothing yet."

"That's because they're in hiding," Hodgins enthused. "If they're discovered, it's genetic testing time. They can't afford for that to happen, not until there are more of them in the world."

"Let me know when you get something within the realm of reality, okay?" Booth caught sight of Brennan and Zack Addy, leaning over another computer monitor. As he got closer, he could see a three-dimensional representation of a skull floating on the screen. "What's up?" he asked, coming to stand beside Brennan.

"Just taking a look at what we have on Theresa Miller's remains," Brennan answered absently.

Theresa Miller had been the last victim; the bank teller. "Anything new?"

"I don't what else I can find here," Zack complained, sounding a little whiny to Booth. "We've been all over the skeleton, and there's nothing."

"I refuse to believe this is a perfect murder," Brennan answered. "Every criminal makes mistakes, and this serial killer isn't any different."

"I'm just saying, Dr. Brennan," Zack went on, "that we've discovered everything there is to discover on these particular remains."

"Working on exhumation orders for the two victims we haven't looked at yet," Booth put in. "Should be hearing back shortly."

"Good." Brennan crossed her arms over her chest. "Evidence says that, the earlier the victim, the more chance there is for the killer to have made mistakes that he's learned since to cover up."

Zack sighed. "In the meantime, I'll keep looking." His voice dropped to a mumble. "Although how I'm supposed to find something that's not there is beyond me."

Booth deigned to ignore the bitching. So, apparently, did Brennan; she turned away, taking a few steps away from the younger anthropologist. "Did you learn anything else from Jeremy?" she asked.

"Nada. Afraid the kid's told us everything he knows."

"Except about your mystery woman." Her mouth crooked upward in what Booth interpreted as a teasing grin.

"Did you have to tell Hodgins about it?" he groused. "Did you hear the stuff he's come up with this time?"

"There are legends in many different cultures that tell of superbeings," Brennan began, going into lecture mode.

"Let's not get into that, okay?" Booth cut her off. He knew his Bones well enough by now to realize she'd get started and never stop.

"I'm just saying, that these sorts of stories and rumors aren't necessarily confined to the societal fringe." She was defending Hodgins, and Booth respected her for it.

"Yeah, well, I refuse to believe there's some sort of superhero out there, saving the world from the bad guys. That stuff's only in comic books."

"Some of our myths and legends sometimes do have a basis in fact, Booth."

"Sure they do. Next you'll be telling me unicorns and fairies exist."

"There was that case in England that involved Harry Houdini and the photographs of fairies – "

Booth held up a hand to forestall her. "Let's not go there, shall we? We need to concentrate on what's reasonable." He paused. "Speaking of Harry Houdini…maybe this woman is some sort of escape artist. That's how she got out of that room."

"Most escape artists use illusion and a few well-placed tools to aid in their so-called tricks," she proceeded to puncture his balloon, "so unless this woman had prior knowledge of Jeremy's bedroom, I don't see how that would work."

"Fine," he snorted. "We just need to find her."

"Booth, you seem to be somewhat obsessed with locating this woman," Brennan pointed out.

"I'm not obsessed, okay?" Well, maybe he was…a little. "I just want to catch this killer, and I think she can help us."

"Have you heard anything?"

"Nope. No hits yet. Which kinda surprises me. You'd think she'd be in someone's records…or at least have a driver's license. But so far we haven't gotten anything from any database." It was like she didn't exist, but he wasn't going to say that. Bones would jump all over that little confession.

"Everyone leaves some kind of trace," she pointed out practically. "It's impossible to be alive and not have some sort of record somewhere."

"Hey, guys!"

Both of them turned at Hodgins' shout. The scientist was looking particularly excited.

"Please tell you me you got something," Booth said as they approached.

"I got something," Hodgins obliged. He indicated the screen. Strange blobby dark things were scattered across it.

"Looks like a butterfly," Booth observed lightly.

Both Hodgins and Brennan gave him a look.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"What these are," Hodgins replied, "are fine shavings of Scotch Pine."

"Like in the tree?"

"More specifically, like in the Christmas tree."

Booth was confused. "But it's May. No one in their right mind has their Christmas decorations up at this time of year."

"My folks keep them up all year round," Zack said, coming to join them.

Did he realize he'd just proved Booth's point? Probably not…and probably best not to say anything.

"We're looking for a place that, at some point in the year, stocks Christmas trees," Angela said.

"More likely stores them," Hodgins answered. His voice always got softer when he spoke to Angela.

It was almost cute.

"Can you find out where they'd be stored?" Brennan asked.

"Do you need to ask?" Hodgins went to the keyboard, typing in a few commands. A map of the D.C. area appeared, followed by two green dots. "Looks like we got two hits, people."

"I'll get teams out there right away." Booth pulled out his cell, glad to finally be doing _something_.

"Hold up there," the scientist interrupted. "I think I can narrow it down." He did some more of his magic at the computer…and one of the dots blinked out. "There you are." He seemed very pleased with himself.

"Good." Booth wasn't even going to question how he'd done that, since he doubted he'd understand much of it.

Hodgins obliged anyway. "The wood shavings were saturated with water, and I was able to sort out the diatoms and pinpoint the exact body of water closest to our storage place."

Nope, didn't get it. Booth hit speed dial, and put in a call to dispatch.

 

* * *

 

The warehouse was dark and somewhat worn-out looking. Booth and his team, wearing bulletproof vests and carrying heavy weaponry, took their assigned places around the structure, ready to move in.

Brennan was standing by the SUV. She'd wanted to come in too, but Booth had declined. There was no way he was going to risk her life in a possible firefight with a serial killer. She might not have liked it, but tough.

Booth crept up to the front door, followed by three other agents. He held his gun at the ready, not knowing what to expect. Would the killer still be there? Or would he be far gone by now? He was leaning toward the whole being gone thing; after all, it'd been almost two days since Jeremy had escaped. Why would this bastard hang around, with a possible witness still alive and breathing?

There was a padlock on the heavy door, but it was unlocked. Booth signaled the men with him, then gently pushed it open. It was gloomy inside, despite the afternoon sunlight outdoors. Booth cursed silently, flicking on his flashlight. He hadn't wanted to communicate their presence, but looked like they didn't have a choice.

The bright beam illuminated a near-empty warehouse. Only a few crates cluttered the immense room, looking forlorn in the flashlight's glare. A door in the right-hand wall blocked this main storage area from deeper parts of the building. The smell of pine wafted into Booth's nose, and he stifled the urge to sneeze.

He moved forward, on the balls of his feet, sliding forward as carefully as he could. There was a fine grit on the floor, acting almost like miniature ball bearings against his shoes. He motioned his guys into different directions, while he himself continued straight into the warehouse. It was almost silent, only the sound of lapping water and various birds coming from outside to break the oppressive quiet.

The hairs were literally standing up on the back of Booth's neck. Something wasn't right, and his instinct was yelling at him about it. The agent kept going, his eyes scanning his surroundings as they became visible in the flashlight's path.

A sudden noise made Booth spin into a crouch, and he aimed the light and his gun toward the back of the warehouse. That was where the majority of the crates lay, blocking his sight of whoever – or whatever – was back there. Damn.

Booth started forward again. The crates got closer and closer, and the noise repeated; a scuffling sound, like a shoe dragging against the concrete floor. "FBI!" he barked in his best Fed voice. "Come out from behind there, hands first."

A muttered curse met Booth's demand. It was a man's voice. Another sound, like someone bumping up against one of the wooden boxes, echoed through the warehouse.

"I said come out!" Booth repeated, still moving forward. "You're surrounded, there's no way out." Well, he'd thought that before…

A loud banging came from the general vicinity of the ceiling. Booth pivoted, pointing his gun that way.

On a catwalk just above the obscuring crates, was the figure of a man.

Booth recognized him instantly from Jeremy's description: tall, thin, wearing a long duster-like coat. His face was obscured, though, even though the agent shown his flashlight full on him.

He was holding something that looked like a gun.

"Freeze!" Booth ordered, putting his gun firmly on the figure that was the Incinerator Killer.

Of course he didn't freeze.

The gun-like object was aimed at the space behind the crates. The serial killer fired once, and Booth swore loudly as he went to the ground, ducking away from the strange green ray that came from the killer's weapon.

There was a sudden shriek of pain from behind the crates.

Booth didn't bother to aim. He pumped two rounds at the Incinerator Killer.

He could've sworn the bullets hit their target, but the bastard kept right on moving, heading along the catwalk and toward a window that had the grime of years piled up on it, obscuring the sunlight.

Booth shot again, this time emptying his gun.

The Incinerator Killer seemed to shrug off the assault. He aimed himself right at the window, launching himself through it and out into the open air beyond.

"Coming out the back!" Booth practically shouted into his radio. "Don't let him get away!"

There was an acknowledgement in his ear. Booth headed toward the boxes, wanting to see what the Incinerator Killer had been aiming at.

Someone was lying face downward in the space between the crates and the wall.

"We need an ambulance," he said to the agent behind him. Booth knelt beside the body, afraid of what he might find. Had they come in time to keep another person becoming the killer's victim?

He felt for a pulse; it was there, but thready. He gently turned the person over…

Revealing the face of his mystery woman.

 

* * *

 

Cameron arrived at the Lab early the next morning, only to find that House had beaten her there.

"What do I have to do to get away from you?" she quipped, stepping down from the jaunting pad.

House sat at the link table, a cup of coffee in his hands. "Apparently more than you're doing now," he snarked back. "You look like shit. Didn't sleep last night?"

"Can I have a cup of coffee, please Tim?" she asked, not answering right away.

"Certainly, Allison. And good morning." The asked-for beverage appeared on the scanning table.

Cameron took a sip, sighing in relief. She joined House. "I thought we took your matter transporter belt away."

"You know…Tim's an old softie. Just offer him a game of chess and he's ready to roll over and let you rub his balls."

She almost snorted her coffee up her nose at that. The four hemispherical shapes on the supercomputer's housing did, in fact, get a lot of grief. But House had raised the bar considerably since his frequent visits to the Lab.

"As you are aware, Greg," he answered; if a biotronic machine could be said to smile, Tim was doing just that, judging from the sound of his voice, "that every time we have played, I have beaten you decisively. You simply keep hoping that I will let you win for once."

Cameron laughed at out at House's outraged expression. "The time before I was two moves from checkmating you!"

"Ah, but who was the actual winner?" Tim asked smugly.

She shook her head, wondering at how much life had changed since the Tomorrow People had come back into her life. Never in a million years could she have guessed that, one day, she'd be sitting there, listening to House and Tim tease each other.

"You didn't answer my question," her boss went on, pinning her with those incredible blue eyes.

Okay, she wasn't going to be able to forget what he'd asked. "No, I didn't sleep well last night. I kept having…nightmares." Cameron hadn't wanted to admit it. But she also knew House wouldn't have let her get away with changing the subject, and Tim would have backed him up if she'd tried it again.

"About Jeremy." House didn't even couch it in the form of a question.

Cameron nodded. "I know he's fine now, but just the idea of someone having grabbed him with the intention of killing him…and what that maniac had told him…it just bothered me a lot."

"Look, we already know that no one is targeting Tomorrow People," House said practically. "Jeremy was just a fluke. Sounds to me like it's just the insane ramblings of your garden variety nutcase."

"I know. Still…" Cameron guessed it was just her natural paranoia at work.

"It would behoove us to try to locate Jeremy's abductor," Tim replied seriously. "Until he is caught, Jeremy could very well be in danger."

"How are we going to do that?" she wanted to know. "Jeremy didn't see the man, and doesn't know where he was taken. And you couldn't get a fix on the location…"

"Perhaps speaking with Jeremy again would bring out further details," the supercomputer suggested.

"I don't dare go back to the hospital to visit him."

"Well, you can talk to him telepathically," House pointed out.

Cameron rolled her eyes at him. "Well…duh! What I mean is, he's such a new TP that he's not used to prolonged telepathic contact. Until you're trained properly, it can mean headaches…at the worst, a migraine. With him being in the hospital, we don't want to cause anything that might make some well-meaning doctor order a CT or MRI. Plus, I'm afraid he'll start talking out loud without realizing it. There's nothing worse than people thinking you're having a conversation with yourself."

House conceded the point.

"Jeremy might not actively remember anything about where he was being held," Tim said, "however, the subconscious stores much more information than the conscious mind is aware of. There is a way to reach that information."

It dawned on Cameron what he was talking about. "You want me to try a mind merge?"

"It would be the most effective way of accessing what Jeremy cannot recall on his own."

"But he's just broken out! Won't that be dangerous?"

"Jeremy has proven to be a powerful telepath in his own right, judging by the way his breaking out affected you. I believe the risks will be minimal."

"This is from the person who thought me having Jeremy jaunt out danger was risky!"

"And you are the one who believed he could jaunt so early into his break-out."

Tim was right, of course. Damn, he usually was. Sometimes he was just as bad as John or House in that department. "But there's still the problem with me going back to the hospital."

"Can't you do it from here?" House asked.

Cameron opened her mouth to tell him no, but closed it again without saying anything. "Do you think we could, Tim?"

"I believe with the two of us linked, we should be able to perform the merge," he answered. "I would not have suggested the procedure otherwise."

Of course he wouldn't have. "Then, I guess there's no time like the present." Cameron placed her hands palm downward on the link table, which lit up under them. She felt Tim's strength flow into her and she let her mind reach out, toward the newest member of the Tomorrow People family. _"Jeremy"_

The response was instantaneous. _"Hey, Allison! Great to hear from you!"_

" _You, too. Listen, I want you to be careful and not speak out loud when you're talking to me telepathically, okay? We don't want people to think you're talking to yourself."_

" _Oh, geez…thanks! I never would've thought about that!"_

" _No problem. How are you today?"_

" _Doing better. Doctor says I should be released today, then Mom and I are going to some sort of safe house so the FBI can protect us."_

" _Good. I'm glad they're looking after you."_ Cameron wished they could just bring Jeremy and his mother to the Lab, but that would really send out all sorts of alarms if they suddenly vanished.

" _That Agent Booth keeps asking about you, though. I haven't said anything."_

Cameron breathed a small sigh of relief. Tim had told her last night that a sketch of her had been put out on the FBI computer network; it would have been accurate enough to match her driver's license and passport photos if Tim hadn't made certain it wouldn't find either one. _"Jeremy, there's something I want to try, if you're willing."_

" _Sure! I trust you. It's weird, you know? I only just met you, but I already know you're my friend."_

" _I feel the same way. Okay, first of all, I want to bring Tim into our link."_

" _Hello, Jeremy,"_ Tim obligingly spoke up.

" _Hey, Tim!"_ the boy greeted.

" _Jeremy,"_ Cameron went on, _"we know the FBI is doing their best to find the guy who kidnapped you, but we want to help…without them knowing, of course. We want to make sure you're out of danger."_

" _Okay."_ Jeremy was curious.

" _We know you saw nothing of your abductor or the place where you were taken,"_ Tim put in. _"However, your other senses may have picked up clues that you simply do not remember."_

" _You mean, I might have heard something?"_

" _Indeed, or even noticed an odor that, at the time, did not make an impression on you."_

" _Gotcha. Tim, can I say something without you getting all offended?"_

" _Of course, Jeremy."_

" _You sure do talk funny."_

The artificial intelligence chuckled. _"No offense taken."_

" _There's a technique we can try to get to those subconscious memories,"_ Cameron said, a smile in her mental voice. _"It's called a merge, and it means I'll get deep into your mind and try to trigger those buried impressions. I know you've been through a lot – "_

" _It's okay, Allison. I know we have to get that guy. And it's worth a shot."_

She was suddenly more proud of him than she's been before. _"Okay. Now, I need you to close your eyes, so you can concentrate better."_

" _Already done that. I'm pretending to be asleep."_

" _Now, that's something I didn't think of. All right, I need you to concentrate on my voice. Only my voice. Don't let anything distract you."_ She could feel the change in the contact; suddenly his connection to her was more focused. _"I want you to start to look within your own mind. I'll follow you. Think back to when you were being held. Keep your mind open, don't close yourself off to my presence."_

Cameron sensed Jeremy struggling, so she added her strength to his. As soon as she did so, darkness filled her mind, along with a panic so bad it made her heart race.

" _Calm down,"_ she soothed. _"This isn't real. We're in your memory, nothing more. He won't hurt you again, I swear."_

" _O…okay,"_ came the shaky reply. The panic faded, although it still lurked at the fringes of their merged minds.

" _Now, just let me get a little deeper…that's it. You're doing fine, Jeremy."_ She was as far in as she dared to go, afraid of losing herself in the boy's memories.

" _Do not fear, Allison,"_ Tim's reassuring voice echoed through their bond. _"I shall not let you get lost."_

Taking Tim at his word, Cameron went even deeper. She could actually feel what Jeremy had experienced: the pain, the terror…and other things.

The surface he'd laid on had been hard, with little bits of grimy stuff that had seemed a combination of slick and sticky. There'd also been a cold wetness that had penetrated his clothes down to the skin. Jeremy had only been able to breathe through his nose, and every time he had the sharp smell of pine filled his nostrils, and buried under that strong odor had been something like damp wood.

He'd also been able to hear, and when his kidnapper had moved around, the footsteps had sounded echo-y and harsh against the floor. There'd also been the sound of water lapping, and a scratching noise from somewhere above him.

" _Come back, Allison,"_ the supercomputer ordered. _"You have been gone long enough."_

Cameron complied. She gently started pulling herself out of Jeremy's memories. _"Very well done,"_ she praised, once she was done.

" _Thanks,"_ Jeremy answered, relieved that it was over. _"Was it any help?"_

" _Don't know yet. We'll see what we can come up with. In the meantime, why don't you get some rest."_

" _Sounds like a good idea. I got a headache now."_

" _I'm sorry about that."_

" _Don't be,"_ he answered firmly. _"It had to be done. Just hope it worked."_

" _I'll contact you later, all right?"_

" _Sure! I can't wait! See ya, Allison! And you, too, Tim!"_

" _And you, Jeremy,"_ Tim answered warmly.

Cameron ended her link with the boy, sighing tiredly. "Did you get any of that, Tim?"

"No, Allison. You were the only one to experience Jeremy's memories. I was merely the anchor."

"Did you find out anything?" House asked. He was trying to look unworried, but it wasn't working.

She was touched by his concern. "I think so, but we just need to put it together." She explained to him what she'd felt and heard.

House took in everything she was saying. Cameron could see the wheels working in his head. "Tim, I think – "

"A whiteboard is in order?" the artificial intelligence finished.

"Are you sure you aren't reading my mind?"

Tim chuckled. A whiteboard appeared on the scanning table, and House quickly set it up. "Now, what do we know? We know Jeremy was lying on something hard, sticky, slick, and wet." Those four things went on the board. "We know he could smell pine and wood."

"Damp wood," Cameron corrected.

House obliged by adding those two items, underlining the word "damp" just for her. "We also know there was water nearby."

"I'd say a body of water, maybe a lake or river."

"Okay. What about the footsteps?"

Cameron thought back. "Hard, and they echoed. I'd say maybe a large space with a concrete floor."

"So a big building of some kind. What about that scratching sound?"

"It was hard to describe. It could've been an animal, or anything."

"Where did it come from?"

She chewed her lip. "Overhead."

House's brow furrowed. "Probably not an animal then, unless it was climbing up or down the wall. Could you tell what sort of material it was scratching against?"

"I…I want to say metal, but I'm not sure. I do think it was coming from outside the building, though."

"Could it perhaps have been a tree branch, rubbing against the outside wall?" Tim suggested.

"That's it! You're right, Tim. It could very well have been a tree."

"So, we're looking for a large building, on the water, with trees outside. Probably pine trees, since that was what Jeremy smelled," House added a new column to the whiteboard, with these items on it.

"No, that's wrong," Cameron said. "The pine smell was _inside_ the building."

"Like cleaning fluid?"

She let her mind go back to that part of her experience. "Um…no, I don't think so. It was more of a stale pine, not like cleaner at all. Pine cleaner is sharper. This wasn't, it was like it'd been there for a while and just permeated the building." Something was tickling the back of her mind, something that the smell reminded her of. "I think I might have smelled it before."

"Oh yeah?" House raised his eyebrows in question. "Where?"

"Not sure." She went back to chewing her lip. "It's…familiar, though." Why was she thinking of it as almost a festive scent? Of course! "Christmas trees!"

House just looked at her. "Care to elaborate?"

"It's like the smell you get when you have a live Christmas tree, and it's been in your living room for about a week. That's exactly what that smell was!"

"So," House drawled, turning back to the whiteboard. "We have a large building near water and trees, and that has a Christmas tree in it somewhere. You do realize, Cameron, that it's May, and that any sort of Christmas tree would've gone off by now."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm just telling you what Jeremy experienced. And I don't think there was an actual Christmas tree present. It was all over, not just in one place. Like maybe there'd been a lot of them in the room at one time."

"A storage area for the trees, perhaps?" Tim asked.

House wrote on the whiteboard: Christmas tree warehouse. "Are there such things in the Washington DC area?"

"I am searching now, Greg, using the parameters Allison has detailed." There was a moment of silence, then, "There are two such places, but only one matches Jeremy's memory precisely."

Cameron couldn't believe it had actually worked. "I'll get the stun guns."

 

* * *

 

They jaunted to just outside the building. It was large, and looked forlorn in the early afternoon sunlight.

Tim hadn't been able to put them down inside. He hadn't been able to come up with a good enough floor plan that would've allowed them to jaunt safely within. Instead, Cameron and House were on the gravel road leading up to the warehouse.

Together they headed up the road, their stun guns drawn. It was silent, with only the wind rustling the trees around them. Cameron shivered slightly in the breeze.

The door was locked with a big, rusty padlock. Cameron used her telekinesis to pop it open, and then pushed the metal panel back far enough to look inside. _"Tim, can you send us two flashlights, please?"_

" _Certainly, Allison."_ Suiting action to words, a pair of small but powerful pencil lights appeared in her outstretched hand.

She gave one to House, and thumbed hers on. The first thing she noticed was the pervasive scent of pine. This had to be the right place, but would the killer still be there?

Once again, Cameron wished that House was telepathic. It would make all this sneaking around so much easier if she could communicate with him silently.

The warehouse was practically empty. The two of them moved deeper inside, trying to be careful not to break the quiet and alert anyone present to them being there.

Cameron's heart was racing. There was that old familiar adrenaline rush, one that she'd been willing to give up all those years ago. She'd never get used to it.

She sent the beam over toward the back. Several crates were stacked up there, hiding the rear wall. Cameron headed toward them, and House took the cue and followed. They passed a door in one wall, and she thought to herself that she'd check that out before they left as well.

They were just approaching the crates when a strange green energy beam struck the concrete between them.

Cameron acted without thinking. She dove for the crates, her telekinesis pulling House along in her wake. She turned both flashlights off, so they wouldn't be such easy targets for whoever it was shooting at them.

"Warn a guy next time you do that," House muttered.

"Sorry," she muttered back, even though she really wasn't. The last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt. And she had no idea what that green energy was. _"Tim, we've just been shot at."_

" _I should jaunt you out – "_

" _Not yet. Let's see if we can still get the guy."_ Cameron shut down the contact, hoping her eyes would be quick to adjust to the gloom.

"I think he was up there." House indicated a catwalk above them.

"Makes sense. Cover me and I'll jaunt up there – "

Her plan was interrupted by a noise by the door.

Cameron took a quick look around the crates they were hiding behind. A group of men was entering the building.

She pulled House toward her, in order to whisper this new development in his ear, but his shoes scuffed the floor.

"FBI!" came an authoritarian voice. "Come out from behind there, hands first!"

Cameron instantly recognized the voice. She ground her teeth in frustration. Was that guy an idiot? Did he want to get killed?"

House cursed. Cameron wanted to do the same thing.

Instead, she bumped her elbow purposely into the crate. If she could get the wacko with the energy weapon to pay more attention to them, instead of the Feds with the death wish out there, maybe she could stun him and they'd be free to jaunt out.

" _Stand by, Tim."_

" _I shall, Allison."_

"I said come out! You're surrounded, there's no way out!"

Cameron wondered if this was that Agent Booth Jeremy had mentioned. Damn!

She looked up at the catwalk, and thought she saw a moving shadow up there. Cameron acted, using her telekinesis to throw the nearest object – it felt like a pipe to her – at it. There was a loud clang as it hit the metal catwalk. "Freeze!" the agent ordered.

The energy beam came arching out again, and this time the bastard had their location. Cameron barely had time to shout out to Tim before both she and House were enveloped in the ray.

She shrieked, as she felt her mind being torn apart under the assault…

 

* * *

 

John barely stifled a yawn, turning it instead into a cough. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so _bored_.

He glanced over at Elena, even knowing before he did that she was just as bored as he was. She was sitting at their table in the conference hall, her chin cupped in one hand, her eyes glazed. This was definitely a place neither one of them wanted to be.

Timus had made it sound so important: a negotiation between four worlds for mineral rights to a fifth, which was an uninhabited ball of rock equidistant from the four. Each planet needed those rights, and were willing to go to war over them.

Instead, the two Tomorrow People had found themselves in what amounted to a popularity contest, with each potential world describing just how great they were and how terrible their competitors were. And, even worse: they weren't the only negotiators there. Timus hadn't actually needed them to attend.

It had pretty much been a waste of time.

John would've much rather been back home, on Earth. Tim had called about problems with a potential break-out, and while he trusted Allison completely with any normal sort of situation, he was afraid this one might be a little beyond her. She didn't have the experience, but then it had been her own decision to only work with them on an "as needed" basis. John didn't fault her in the least. She had her own life; besides, she wasn't the only Tomorrow Person to choose to lead as normal a life as possible. If anything, it made sense that not all functioning TP's were put in near-constant danger. It meant there would be those left behind to help the next generation.

He tried to get his thoughts back on the proceedings, but they refused to be corralled. God, this was just crazy. He looked at Timus; the ambassador was sitting there calmly, watching as the planetary representatives argued back and forth. On the second day John has asked why they'd been asked to attend, and the alien had replied that he'd thought it was good experience for both of them. In what, actually? In learning how to fall asleep during a major blow-up between disagreeing alien races? Hell, John already knew how to sleep pretty much anywhere!

" _Wake me up when it's dinner time,"_ Elena thought to him privately.

" _I was just going to ask you to do the same,"_ he sent back along the same private wavelength.

His companion sighed, switching the hand that held up her head. _"And to think I gave up all this in order to stay on Earth."_ The sarcasm just dripped from that statement.

John managed to control the snort that threatened to escape his throat. Elena had been offered a very prestigious position with the Federation diplomatic corps, and had declined the honor. At the time he'd been secretly glad that she wouldn't have been leaving Earth, it had since grown into an absolute glow that she'd decided to stay.

Timus looked at them, and while John knew he hadn't actually heard their short conversation, a part of him felt like they'd been caught out. He was actually gaining a bit more respect for those patient people in the diplomatic corps just by sitting there. How could they stand all this? His friend, Elizabeth, was one of the premier diplomats of the Federation, and even though she'd trained on Earth to be a teacher and had the patience of a saint, John just couldn't understand how she dealt with it all.

" _John! Elena!"_ Tim's sudden, frantic voice broke through the fugue. _"Something is happen –"_ He was cut off.

John sat up straight, all trace of drowsiness gone. _"You heard that?"_

" _I did."_ Elena's eyes were wide with concern. _"Tim?"_ she called out.

There was nothing.

" _We're leaving."_ It wasn't like Tim not to answer, unless for some reason he couldn't. And, that worried John more than anything.

He stood, and Elena followed suit. Their movement caused complete silence to fall over the conference hall. "We apologize," he said, "but something has come to our attention on our home world that we must take care of. We're certain the negotiations will go just as smoothly without us." He bowed, then headed toward the door.

Timus met them there. "I trust this is of sufficient importance for you to leave the conference," he said softly. His usually friendly face was positively thunderous.

"Tim just called us," John answered, "and was cut off in mid-sentence."

"We tried to contact him, but he didn't answer," Elena added.

"And there aren't other Tomorrow People on Earth who can check?"

Apparently this wasn't going to be easy. "Of the senior team, only Allison is available, but she's in the middle of a critical break-out and I hesitate to disturb her." Even as John was speaking, he wondered if he was just looking for an excuse to leave, or should he just have Allison check despite his reticence to ask her. He knew she was in a potentially dangerous situation; Tim had told him that she and Greg had gotten a lead on Jeremy Sanders' kidnapper and were following up on it. And, yes, he was worried about them as much as he was about Tim. But was it a good enough reason to walk out on their responsibilities here?

Hell…what responsibilities? All he and Elena had done for a week was to sit there and try not to look bored to tears.

"I'm sorry, Timus, but we don't have a choice. Besides, we're not really needed here. You and the other diplomats have everything well in hand."

"John's right," Elena put in. "Our being here isn't making any difference. We should be looking out for our own first. You have to understand that."

The elder ambassador looked from John to Elena, and then back again. His eyes softened somewhat. "I do understand, my friends. I shall arrange for the long-range matter transporter beam. Go, and good luck."

John was relieved. "Thank you, Timus." He bowed to the older man, then he and Elena left, heading toward the nearest control room.

 

* * *

 

They were beamed into a darkened Lab.

Alarm bells went off in John's mind as he headed toward one of Tim's manual interfaces. He removed the panel and took a quick look around the supercomputer's innards. "Looks like his telepathic buffers were blown," he said, reaching in and touching one of the blackened controls.

"What could do that?" Elena asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine." The elder TP began removing the crystals. "Can you get me the replacements from the workroom? They're in drawer F-8."

"Sure."

He heard her leave the main area. John could see that Tim's automatic repair systems were working; one of the damaged circuits was mending itself as he watched. But replacing the buffers was the fastest way to get answers to what had happened.

"John."

He turned at Elena's call. She was standing beside an erect whiteboard, and John recognized Greg's handwriting all over it. The words "Christmas tree warehouse" were both underlined and circled.

"I'm sure once we get Tim back online he can explain it." He held out his hand for the box Elena was holding.

She handed it to him. John began to replace the crystals; every time a new one was plugged in, the lights in the Lab went a little brighter.

"John! Elena!" Tim exclaimed, as the last circuit was in place. "Then you heard me call out!"

"We did." The pair took seats at the link table, John setting the now half-empty box aside. "What the hell's going on?"

"As I told you," the artificial intelligence began, "I had encouraged Allison to attempt a mind merge, to retrieve any memories buried in Jeremy's unconscious. It worked very well, and we were able to locate the possible place where Jeremy had been held. Greg and Allison jaunted there to investigate."

"Is that what "Christmas tree warehouse" means?" Elena asked.

"Indeed. The sensory impressions Jeremy had received led us to believe he had been held in a place where such trees has been stored at one time. And, it did turn out to be correct. Allison reported that she and Greg had been fired upon."

"By what?" John demanded.

"I did not know at the time, although the impression I received from was of some sort of energy weapon."

"But you know now?"

"I do, John. It was a neural disruptor."

He shivered. Elena's panic was plain in the way her eyes widened and by the vibes she was sending out. "That's not Earth technology."

"It is not."

"You mean we have an alien going around killing people?" Elena was incredulous.

"That would be the logical hypothesis, or else a Sap has somehow gotten ahold of alien equipment."

"That could be, given the Intellex mess," John said.

"You are right. However…one moment," Tim went silent, then continued. "I have just discovered that someone is attempting to run Allison's fingerprints and DNA through the law enforcement computer network. I have blocked the request from reaching any of the pertinent databases."

That wasn't good. That implied…"Can you locate her?"

"I am attempting to do so." He went silent again, and this time it was a longer pause. "According to the FBI database, a woman matching Allison's description was admitted to DC General Hospital sixteen point two minutes ago. I am attempting to access the hospital's computers to find out more."

"But what about Dr. House?" Elena asked. "Surely he'd be with her."

"There is no one either of Greg's description or under his name having been admitted," Tim reported. "Allison, of course, would not have had any sort of identification with her. Greg, on the other hand, would since he hasn't had to take the precautions the rest of the Tomorrow People have had to."

"Greg wouldn't have been affected by the neural disruptor anyway," John pointed out. "That sort of weapon only affects _Homo Superior_. He could have escaped."

"That is true. However, Greg as yet to call in. Even when I was temporarily down, any sort of call coming in over our secret phone number would have been routed to an automatic recording system."

"And he wouldn't have left Allison, at least not willingly." Elena fretted. "So, where is he?"

John was worried, as well. Allison was in custody; Greg missing…while he wasn't the sarcastic doctor's best friend by any stretch of the imagination, he did respect the man. And he also knew there was no way he would've left Allison to be arrested. "What caused your telepathic buffers to overload, Tim?"

"Allison had called out, and I had begun to jaunt them both from of the warehouse, when they were struck by the neural disruptor. Both of our minds were linked. Therefore the energy traveled through our link and affected me. However, as this would not normally have caused the damage that I did sustain, I have traced the rest of the feedback to my being in control of both Allison's jaunting belt and Greg's matter transporter belt at the time of the disruption. Since both belts are, of necessity, connected to my own neural network, I received, in effect, a "triple whammy" from the weapon."

John whistled. "The power of that weapon must have been incredible!"

"Indeed. And I am convinced that, the reason Allison is still alive, is because she was mid-jaunt at the moment of contact. I have managed to learn that she is unconscious, and that the doctor on duty has ordered a battery of neurological tests. While this would normally be a dangerous thing for a Tomorrow Person, the disruption of Allison's own mind would have suppressed all the usual medical signs."

"If it was that powerful," Elena asked, "would that mean that Dr. House could've been affected after all?"

"If he had, they would've found him as well as Allison," John pointed out. "And apparently there was no trace of Greg at the scene."

"No, or else I would have found it in the FBI database or in the hospital computers."

"Tim's right. Something else happened to Greg." The elder TP sighed. "Right now, I think we need to concentrate on finding him."

"But what about Allison!" Elena exclaimed. "We can't leave her in federal custody!"

"We don't have much of a choice. If we tried to jaunt her out of there – "

"And we cannot," Tim interrupted, "her jaunting belt is not functional."

"It was just bring attention onto her she doesn't need," John finished. "And I would assume that means that Greg's matter transporter belt is also offline?"

"Yes, John. It is."

"Then he's in a much more tenuous situation than Allison right now."

Elena sighed. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry."

John hated to see her like this. His voice softened. "I understand, Elena. Believe me, if there was a way to get her out of that hospital, I'd do it. But Allison is going to be too well guarded. Plus, it might not be the best idea to jaunt her out of there in her condition. It might do more damage than has already been done."

"And besides, if anyone knows their way around a hospital, it's Allison," the woman conceded.

John was suddenly struck by an idea. "Maybe that's where we need her to be…"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, I think we need to explore this "Christmas tree warehouse" that Allison and Greg found. Is the coast clear yet, Tim?"

"Not as yet," the supercomputer reported. "There are many FBI technicians still investigating the property. I shall inform you when it is."

"Good. In the meantime, keep an eye on Allison, and let me know when she regains consciousness." He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "We'll need to communicate with her as soon as we can."

"In her state she might not be able to hear us," Elena pointed out.

"Then we'll need to have faith that Allison will know what to do. You and I both know she's probably the most paranoid among us. I'm sure she'll be fine." John had to think that, that he wasn't leaving Allison in a situation she wouldn't be able to control.

It didn't help that he felt just like he was abandoning her.

 

* * *

 

Booth wanted to punch out the wall in frustration. He should be happy, right? He'd found his mystery woman – okay, she was currently unconscious, but at least that meant she wasn't going to vanish on him – but even with fingerprinting and DNA there still wasn't a clue to her identity to be found. It was impossible, he knew; everyone had a paper trail in their lives. She hadn't even been carrying any sort of I.D. on her, only some weird thing in the shape of a gun, and looked like something out of a tacky sci-fi movie. He'd hoped to be able to catch her off guard by knowing who she was. But, apparently, that wasn't going to happen.

"Booth? You okay?"

He turned. Brennan was standing behind him, looking concerned. "Why wouldn't I be?" he asked lightly. "We've just managed to get one piece of our puzzle."

"But the Incinerator Killer escaped."

Yeah, that bothered Booth, too. The man had jumped from the warehouse window, and no one had seen him land. There'd been agents on that side of the building, but not a one of them could say they'd seen the bastard once he'd shattered the window. There wasn't even any sign that he'd even hit the ground; no footprints, no nothing. The guy had just vanished.

Kinda like Booth's mystery woman had. Can't have been a coincidence, could it?

No. Booth didn't really believe in coincidence like that. He believed the evidence, and what his instincts told him.

And currently those instincts were telling him that the woman would know more about what was going on. Of course, Booth was pretty certain too that she wouldn't be very forthcoming.

He really wanted to know what that weapon the killer had been shooting off was. But he doubted that particular curiosity itch would be scratched, either. And he wasn't about to start believing in ray guns…talk about another bad sci-fi cliché…

"Agent Booth?"

Man, someone else wanted his attention.

This time it was Malone, a stocky African-American agent who'd been with the FBI for about two years. "What's up?"

"It's about that woman we found in the warehouse." The man was looking uncomfortably confused.

"What about her?" Booth asked, hoping he was going to be told she was awake, but at the same time knowing he wasn't about to get that lucky.

"I've seen her before."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Booth perked up instantly. "How do you know her?"

"I don't _know_ her," Malone denied. "I said I've _seen_ her before."

"Where was that?" Brennan asked before Booth could.

"Right here, in the hospital. I'm pretty sure she visited that kid, Jeremy Sanders."

Booth's mouth dropped open. "Damn," he breathed. Had she actually had the balls to come here, or had Malone been seeing things? One way to find out… "Does this floor have security cameras?"

 

* * *

 

Booth and Brennan sat in the hospital's security office, while the guard on duty ran yesterday's recordings on the monitor in front of them. Brennan was sitting a little too close, and Booth was really noticing it. She had on a really nice perfume today. He wondered vaguely what it was called.

Okay, time to get his mind back on business.

He rested his chin in his hand as he watched nurses, doctors, orderlies, aides, and various visitors cruising the floor in question. At one point, the guard on the door of the kid's room – Scott, he knew – was relieved by Malone. Malone dutifully stood there, and in the digital picture he managed not to look like he'd gotten the most boring job of the year.

Mrs. Sanders came and went a couple of times. Since she hadn't mentioned that anyone had been to visit her son, Booth was pretty certain she'd been gone at the time. He didn't think she'd have let a stranger be on their own with Jeremy…not if she could help it, and not after what the kid had been through. So he paid particular attention to the times she was gone.

On her third trip out of the room, a nurse went in.

Booth snorted as Malone checked her out. Her back was to the camera, and she was wearing nurse's scrubs, but the dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail was enough to tip Booth off.

It had to be her.

She was in the room for about ten minutes. Booth cursed. Hadn't Malone been just a wee bit suspicious when the "nurse" hadn't come back out fairly quickly? He'd have to have a talk with the guy; after all, it was fine to look at a pretty woman but to let her hang around with a witness for a long period of time had been potentially dangerous. She must have had a pretty good I.D. to get in.

When she came back out, he got a good look at her. Oh yeah. "Hello, mystery woman," he breathed. "Pause that," he said out loud. The guard obliged, and the now-familiar face stared back at him from the left side of the screen.

"I can't believe she got into the hospital and into Jeremy's room," Brennan replied.

"Well, there she is!" Booth waved his hand at the image, feeling decidedly smug.

"I'm saying," his partner answered, "that with all the security in the hospital, it should have been impossible for her to get to the floor, let alone into the actual room. She also had to have detailed information in order to find Jeremy, and not draw attention to herself by acting lost."

Booth considered what Brennan was saying. She was right, of course. The woman had to have known her way around the hospital, and that meant she'd either had really good intelligence or she'd been there before. Maybe he should arrange for a canvas of hospital employees, to find out if anyone knew her…but first…

"I think another little talk with Jeremy is in order." The agent stood. "He's due to be released and sent to the safe house soon. Let's catch him before they leave."

 

* * *

 

Jeremy was looking decidedly better than the last time Booth had seen him. The kid was dressed, and sitting on the edge of the bed, the redness gone from his face. His mother sat beside him, looking intensely protective.

He smiled when Booth and Brennan entered the room. "Hey!" he greeted them. "Coming to see us off?"

"Not exactly." Booth looked the kid in the eye. "I have a question for you."

"Um…sure." Jeremy must have been able to read the seriousness in the agent's face, because his smile faded.

"What did the woman want when she came to see you yesterday?"

Mrs. Sanders looked surprised. "No one's been in here that's not supposed to be here, Agent Booth."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Sanders, but that's not true. She was here while you were gone." Booth looked at Jeremy, and saw something he hadn't expected: blankness.

The kid was staring forward, his blue eyes practically faded out. His lips were moving faintly, like he was talking to himself. He was about to call for the nurse when Jeremy was suddenly back, and he was mad. His blue eyes were practically flashing. "You're crazy, Agent Booth."

"It doesn't do any good to deny it. We have her on the hallway security camera." He was taken aback by Jeremy's venom. It was the opposite reaction from what he'd believed would happen. "And we also have her here, in the hospital. We'll find out about her soon enough. Isn't it time you were completely honest with us?"

Jeremy's eyes went blank again, but were back to normal before Booth could say he'd even see then change. "Look, the only people who've come in here are the people who've been taking care of me," he asserted. "Besides, your agents on the door would've stopped anyone who didn't belong."

"Jeremy," his mother said, turning him to look at her. "If there's something you need to tell us, don't you think you should?" Now she was looking scared. Booth had to think it was due to the idea that someone had gotten into see her precious son, and no one had done anything to stop them. He couldn't blame her.

The kid rolled his eyes. "Mom, c'mon. I'd say something if I could. You think I want to be kidnapped again? No, thanks. Once was enough."

Booth grew frustrated once more. He wasn't going to get a thing out of Jeremy. He was determined to protect the woman, no matter what. "Okay. I won't ask you again." It was useless, anyway. "But when she wakes up, don't you think she's going to tell us what we want to know?"

Jeremy smirked, but didn't say anything.

That was all the answer the agent needed. It told him that she wasn't about to be cooperative, either. But then, he'd expected it. "The agent on duty is going to escort you to the safe house. You'll be guarded twenty-four hours a day. No one is going to be able to get to either of you."

"Thank you, Agent Booth," Mrs. Sanders said gratefully.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Sanders." Booth left the room, Brennan following him.

"Did you honestly think Jeremy would say anything?" she asked, as they walked down the hall.

Booth sighed. "It was worth a try. Especially since I get the feeling our mystery lady isn't going to be very cooperative, either. And there is absolutely nothing anywhere that tells us anything about her: every check we've made has come up empty."

"Perhaps you're looking in the wrong place," she murmured.

"What the hell does _that_ mean, Bones?" he demanded petulantly.

Brennan physically shook herself. "Sorry, I was thinking out loud."

"Well, if you have something to add, be my guest. Cause I'm drawing a blank here."

"Maybe we should be taking a look at her test results. Perhaps there's something in them that might give us a clue."

Booth knew the doctors were running all sorts of tests, trying to find out why the woman was still unconscious. There hadn't been any physical reason that they could see, and they were pretty well as stumped as Booth himself was. "Sounds like a plan."

"I'll get copies of the x-rays and scans and forward them to the Jeffersonian."

"In the meantime, all we do is wait for her to wake up. Not that that's going to do a hell of a lot of good." He put on a smile, for his partner's benefit. "Care for a cup of coffee? I hear the hospital cafeteria here isn't half bad."

 

* * *

 

They were on their second cup of tolerable hospital coffee when Booth's cell phone rang. "Booth," he answered, his heart suddenly beating a little faster when he saw it was Malone's number on the caller I.D.

"She's awake, Agent Booth," came the reply he'd been waiting for.

"We're on our way." He snapped the phone shut. Brennan was already up, almost like she'd read his mind.

The trip up to the ICU seemed to take forever. Booth was positively bouncing as they headed down the corridor toward the woman's room. Okay, so he knew he wasn't going to get any easy information out of her, but just the idea of asking the questions gave him a boost. He was hoping she'd inadvertently give something away; anything that would give him a toehold into this mess.

The woman was staring out the window when they entered. At first, she didn't acknowledge their presence, as if she were a million miles away. But at Booth's rather loud clearing of his throat, she turned to look at them with cool eyes that seemed to see right through him. "Hello, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan," she said, before he could open his mouth. She lifted her left hand, where it was handcuffed to the bed railing. "Is this entirely necessary?"

Now, that he hadn't been expecting; it took him aback for a few seconds until he realized that Jeremy must have told her about them, when she'd visited him. "You have us at a distinct disadvantage," he answered. He didn't answer her about the handcuffs.

"I think I'd like to keep it that way for the time being."

"If you say so. Although I have to tell you, we're running your prints and DNA right now. We're bound to get a hit eventually." It was a total bluff, but Booth wasn't above such tricks.

The woman's lips – rather nice ones, Booth had to admit – curled upward in a knowing smile. "I doubt that. I think you'll find a dead end in that respect…like the drawing you had made."

Now Booth was getting seriously weirded out. How had she known about the sketch? His hackles were definitely reacting to that one.

"How did you know about that?" Brennan asked. Good thing she did, because Booth was too busy being freaked.

"I have my…sources, Dr. Brennan," she answered.

"What sources?" Booth demanded. What, they had some sort of leak in the Bureau?

"No, I didn't hear about it from anyone in the FBI," the woman said.

"Are you reading my mind or something?" Booth tried to blow off just how flummoxed he was.

The woman merely smiled mysteriously.

Now Booth was actually feeling creeped out. Not a nice feeling, and not one he was particularly used to.

"Look," the woman said, into the uncomfortable silence. "We're on the same side here. Maybe we should pool our resources and work together to catch this killer."

"And how are we supposed to trust you to keep your side of the bargain?"

"I could give you my word, Agent Booth, but I'm not sure you'd accept that." She sighed. "I just want to make sure Jeremy stays safe. To do that, we have to catch this guy, because he could go after Jeremy again, and I'm sure neither one of us want that."

"Who is Jeremy to you?"

The woman looked at him closely. Booth met her eyes, not wanting to show just how much she was getting to him. She was a mystery that didn't seem to have an answer, or at least an answer that she was willing to share. "Let's just say he's special, and leave it at that."

It didn't answer Booth's spoken question, but it sure answered his unspoken one: she cared about the boy, and would do what she could to protect him. "Okay, let's say we work together. What can you offer that the FBI doesn't have?"

"I have access to some pretty cutting edge science, plus people who will do just as much as I will to get the Incinerator Killer. We don't want him killing anyone else. I guess you could say we're…some sort of think tank, with some pretty advanced technology."

"We have the resources of a federal agency plus the Jeffersonian," Brennan replied, not at all sounding like she was tooting their own horn. With Bones, it was just stating a fact.

"I see." The woman seemed to consider. "Then how do you explain the fact that you're completely unable to locate any trace of my identity whatsoever?" She didn't sound smug, either. Like Brennan, she was just stating the obvious.

"How are you doing that?"

"Does it matter, Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, it does actually. If you've found some way to breach security – "

"And if I say we mean you no harm, as the cliché goes?" The woman was smiling again. "All I'm saying is, is that technology would also be at your service, through my helping you."

"How do we know you won't just…disappear again?" No, Booth wasn't going to ask her how she did that, no matter how curious he was. Because, one: he didn't want her to know how badly that had rattled him; and two: he knew she wasn't about to tell him anything.

"You don't. But, you couldn't keep me where I didn't want to be."

"Seems we're keeping you here right now."

She lifted her wrist once more, the metal of the handcuffs clanking against the railing. "This? Please, Agent Booth. I come and go as I please, and this isn't going to stop me."

The way she said it made Booth's blood run a little cold. She was so certain that she could leave whenever she wished, it was frightening. He had the sudden thought that he was dealing with something so far beyond him that it was like playing with fire.

But he had no choice, really. If she did have access to what she claimed, then they could use her help. And, above anything else, Booth really wanted to catch the Incinerator Killer. "Okay. You're in. As soon as the doctors clear you to leave, we're outta here." He motioned Brennan out of the room. "We'll be back then."

Booth was almost to the door, Brennan in front of him, when he heard the clattering of the handcuffs once more. "Agent Booth?" the woman called.

He turned around…just in time to catch the handcuffs that she'd obviously thrown at him. Booth stared at her in disbelief. "You can call me Allison," she said, into the silence.

 

* * *

 

John and Elena jaunted into the trees just beyond the warehouse. The FBI and their technicians had finally left, taking their equipment with them, but there was still two men on duty outside, and they'd need to make sure those men didn't interrupt their own investigations.

John had to admit, he was very concerned about Greg's current location. He still hadn't called in, so he must not have been able to; plus he wouldn't have let the authorities take Allison, not without a fight. So he had to be incapacitated somewhere…they just didn't know where.

And John owed it to Allison to find him.

" _You jaunt to the other side and stun the guard there,"_ he told Elena. _"I'll get the one by the vehicle."_

" _On my way."_ With that, she jaunted away.

The elder Tomorrow Person made the short jaunt to the opposite side of the SUV from the FBI agent on duty. He could hear the Sap moving around, and John used that sound to locate him. A quick burst from the stun gun made short work of the man.

" _I'm jaunting into the warehouse, John."_

" _I'll be right there."_ He suited action to words.

He materialized right beside Elena. The scent of pine made him want to sneeze. _"Keep a lookout while I take a look around."_

" _You got it."_

John holstered his stun gun, the better to use the equipment he'd brought with him. He wanted to get some comprehensive scans of the area, and hopefully get something useful in their search for Greg.

He was just about to begin his scans when Tim interrupted him. _"John, Jeremy has just called to me."_

" _What did he say?"_

" _That Agent Booth has once again questioned him about Allison, but this time he claimed that she was in the same hospital. I told Jeremy that that was, indeed, the case, but to keep denying that he actually knew her."_

" _Good job, Tim. Keep me informed. Has there been any change in Allison's condition?"_

" _According to the hospital computers, they are currently running tests to determine the reason she is still unconscious. As I suspected, the results they are getting do not actually show any of the readings that are consistent with a Tomorrow Person's normal parameters."_

" _Thanks, Tim."_

" _You are most welcome. I shall inform you of any change."_

John sighed. He hated the idea of Allison being alone in that hospital, but there wasn't really anything they could do about it.

Best get on with trying to find Greg.

The energy detector started beeping immediately. John moved it to get the stronger readings, and followed the sound to an area behind some crates at the rear of the warehouse. He had to turn down the volume a bit the closer he got to the source, and by the time he found himself behind the crates the thing was practically whining. _"I'm getting some extremely powerful energy signatures,"_ he sent to both Elena and Tim, _"but that's to be expected if our assumptions about the disruptor beam are accurate."_

" _They are, John,"_ the supercomputer agreed. _"According to the hospital computers, Allison's brain scans are almost completely human. Only a disruption of such magnitude could account for it."_

" _But Tim,"_ Elena put in, _"certain types of head injuries can do the same thing."_

" _That is true, Elena. However, there are no indications that Allison has suffered such an injury. In fact, the reason the doctors are taking the scans is the distinct lack of such indications."_

" _Is there any sign that Allison is regaining consciousness yet?"_

" _Not as yet, John. I shall, of course, keep monitoring her condition."_

" _Thank you, Tim. My God, the detector is going crazy."_ It was; the box was practically vibrating in John's hand. Was it his imagination, or was it actually getting warm?

_"John, I am getting interference with your jaunting belt. When you jaunt from the warehouse, you will have to go outside."_

" _What about mine, Tim?"_

" _As yet, yours is unaffected, Elena. However, that may change the longer you stay within the building."_

" _We'll be done in a moment."_ Saying that, John turned off the detector, then knelt on the floor, hoping to find some sort of physical sign of what had happened to Greg, although chances of that were slim. The FBI technicians would be far too professional to leave anything behind.

After about a minute, John sighed and stood up. As he'd suspected, the floor had been practically vacuumed clean. He would have to rely on Tim's connection with the federal computer network for their information.

" _Let's get out of here, Elena,"_ he thought to her.

_"Sounds good to me. This place is getting to me. It's far too spooky for my liking."_

John was careful not to smile where she could see it, just in case she would think he was making fun of her. Elena was far more emotional than he was, and describing the interior of the warehouse as "spooky" was just like her. Just because it was gloomy, smelled funny, and there were the oddest random sounds…well, maybe it was spooky. Although John wouldn't dare admit to it.

Together the two Tomorrow People left the warehouse, checking on the stunned FBI agents on the way out. They'd regain consciousness soon, with no ill effects. John smiled at the confusion their sudden awakening would cause them.

They jaunted back to the Lab. Once there, John set his detector down on Tim's scanning table, letting the artificial intelligence do his part by analyzing the data on the device. Tim automatically made them each a cup of tea while they waited.

Just seconds later, Tim spoke. "According to the hospital monitors, Allison is regaining consciousness,"

"Thank God," Elena breathed in relief.

"We need to contact her."

"That might not be wise, John," Tim cautioned. "There is a possibility that premature use of Allison's powers could cause unspecified damage to her brain."

John wasn't happy, but he understood. There was no way they could risk injuring Allison. "All right. We'll have to trust she'll be able to cope – "

" _Tim?"_ the voice was incredibly weak, but it was Allison's.

John and Elena laid their hands on the table, linking their minds with Tim's in order to get enough power to hear her. _"Allison! Are you all right?"_

" _John?"_ She sounded incredulous.

" _I'm here, too,"_ Elena chimed in.

" _Allison, we can't risk too much contact, we don't want your powers to suffer,"_ the elder TP went on. _"But you need to know you're in hospital, the same one Jeremy is in. You were hit by a neural disruptor, which is why your powers are so weak."_

He could feel Allison begin to panic a little. _"If they run tests – "_

" _They already have, but the disruptor suppressed them. We're all frankly surprised you can speak telepathically."_

" _I…I'm feeling stronger all the time,"_ In fact, her mental voice was getting a little louder. _"Where's House? Is he here? Did the FBI get him? Is he all right?"_ Her fear was fairly blaring through their mental link

" _No, Allison, they didn't capture him."_ John didn't really want to tell her the truth, that they didn't have any idea where Greg was, but didn't know if hiding it was a good idea either. _"Plus a neural disruptor wouldn't have worked on him anyway."_

" _Then he's okay?"_

John's eyes met Elena's across the table. There was a healthy dose of worry in them; they mirrored his own feelings. _"Allison, I hate to tell you this, but we…we don't know what happened to Greg. He's vanished."_

That didn't sit well with Allison; her fear multiplied, and with the injury done to her mind she wasn't able to hold it back. _"I should never have taken him with me – "_

" _You have to calm down. You can't blame yourself. You know Greg well enough that there was no way he would've been left behind. We're doing all we can to find him. But you have to relax, Allison."_

" _Of course, John. You're right."_ She paused, and the terror she'd been feeling subsided. _"So I take it getting me out of here is out the question."_ This time sarcasm came back with the words.

_"Actually, even if we could, I think it's best you stay there for a while."_

" _You have a plan, then?"_ The longer they talked, the better she sounded. John was glad her powers were rebounding so quickly.

_"I think perhaps it's time we start helping the FBI in their investigations."_

Elena looked at him in disbelief, but didn't say anything.

" _John, you want me to actually help them?"_ Allison was feeling the same emotion apparently.

_"You're already known to them, Allison. Getting you away from the hospital would only make matters worse. So, I suggest you offer our resources to aid in the investigation."_

" _Have I told you lately just how insane you are?"_

Elena chuckled, both out loud and mentally.

John was nettled by her comment, and it made his words more clipped than usual. _"We both have the same goal here: to find this killer and stop him. They have investigative methods that we lack, and vice versa. In sheer manpower alone, they're ahead of us. But we have Tim, so we also have something to offer. Besides, they may not be able to handle the sort of technology that this man has at his disposal. After all, they_ are _only Saps."_

" _You don't honestly want me to tell them who we are?"_ Allison's mental voice practically squeaked.

_"Of course not. But the already suspect you're something other than normal, if just because of your disappearance from Jeremy's house. Tell them you're psychic or something. They should believe that."_

Allison didn't answer, but her disbelief grew.

" _I know this is going to be difficult,"_ John tried to soothe her, _"but I have confidence in you. I know you can do this. And, in the meantime, we'll keep investigating on our end. Hopefully we can find some trace of Greg or the killer."_

" _You'd better. And you'd better come up with a plan to get me out of this mess."_

" _Don't worry, we will. You're safe there, in any case."_

" _If you say so."_ There was a pause. _"I have to go. Agent Booth and – what's his partner's name?"_

" _Dr. Temperance Brennan,"_ Tim supplied.

" _Thank you, Tim. Anyway, they're here. Time to channel my inner John…"_ With that, she broke the connection.

"What the hell did she mean by that?" he wanted to know.

All Elena did was laugh harder.

"I have finished my analysis of the readings you took in the warehouse," Tim said, breaking the mood.

"What did you find?" John was glad of the distraction. Seeing Elena laugh at his confusion was just too much.

"The energy released by the disruptor was indeed considerable. The weapon was approximately three times more powerful than disruptors we have had experience with."

John whistled. "You did say Allison was lucky to have been jaunting at the time."

"Indeed she was. According to all available data, if she had not Allison's powers would have been destroyed."

The elder Tomorrow Person was even gladder now that he'd asked Allison to work with the authorities. The Saps wouldn't be able to handle that sort of thing. Plus the last thing they'd need was for something like that to fall into careless hands. "Could you find out any information as to what happened to Greg?"

"I believe I have. Some of the readings indicate trace amounts of energetic chronometric particles active within the disruptor matrix."

Now, _that_ announcement made John sit up and take notice. His mind went into overdrive, putting that piece of information into perspective. "But there's only way chronometric particles can be generated!" he exclaimed.

"Would someone please explain to the scientifically challenged one in the room just what that means?" Elena groused. "Or am I not going to like it?"

"Elena," John answered, "I can pretty much guarantee you're not going to like it…"

 

* * *

 

House awoke slowly, his head pounding fit to burst. He completely failed to stifle his groan. Damn…ever since he'd been let into Cameron's own little world, he'd been knocked out, had his brain shut down, and now this…whatever the hell this was…

He peeled his eyes open, and instantly regretted it when the sunlight stabbed into them like needles. Wait…sunlight? The last thing he remembered was that he'd been in a gloomy, stinky warehouse. House struggled to sit up, his bad leg screaming at him that it was well past time for a Vicodin. He took a good look at his surroundings, and realized he didn't know where the fuck he was.

Trees surrounded him, but they were odd – the color of their leaves was just off enough from the green he was familiar with, and their trunks were strange and spindly, like every one of them was diseased or something. They made a weird rustling noise too, when the wind blew through them; it was like listening to someone crumpling up tissue paper. It quickly got on House's nerves to hear it.

But then realized something was missing: the sounds of birds.

House got carefully to his feet. He dug in his jacket pocket for his bottle of Vicodin, dry swallowing one as he looked around some more. Even the sky looked odd; it was a little too blue, almost purple, and the clouds had a slightly lavender tinge to them. House couldn't see the sun, so it could've been chartreuse for all he knew.

"Shit, Toto…we're not in freaking Kansas anymore…" Wait, had he already used that line in his travels? He couldn't remember, but if so he'd have to get some new material!

The question was: how in the hell had he gotten there?

But the biggest question was: where the hell was Cameron?

House searched the area frantically. Cameron was nowhere to be found. Maybe what had happened to him hadn't happened to her? The last thing he remembered was seeing that bright green light coming at them. He seemed to recall that he'd begun feeling that familiar disassociation of being transported. Had she managed to jaunt to safety? Was she looking for him, even as he stood there and worried about her?

He trusted her. It came down to that. Cameron would move heaven and earth to find him, just as he'd once done for her. Plus she had John and Tim with her, and House knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that the three of them would locate him – wherever he was.

It had to be an alien planet. That was the only explanation for the strange trees and sky. But how he'd gotten there was a mystery. Perhaps that green ray had somehow done it? If he'd been in the middle of being transported…well, House wasn't scientifically bent, at least not that way, but it made a certain sort of sense to him.

Unfortunately, there were hundreds of worlds out here, just in his area of the galaxy alone. How were they supposed to track him down to one?

Once again, it came down to trust. If Cameron had somehow gotten out of the warehouse – and we wasn't prepared to believe otherwise – she and the other Tomorrow People would be searching for him. While he would never admit it, he had confidence in them to come to the rescue.

So, in the meantime, maybe he should take a look around? Or play it safe and stay put, and wait for Cameron to come?

Naw, there was no way House would just sit around when there was an entirely new planet to explore!

He tapped his stun gun, making sure the weapon was there. If he was going to have a look around, the last thing he wanted was to meet some unfriendly alien beings without it.

The woods weren't very deep because House made it out of the trees in what seemed like no time flat. At one point in his journey he'd glanced at his watch, but it hadn't been working. He'd thought that odd, since he'd just had the battery changed.

A field opened up once House got past the woods. The grass was about waist high, and a shade of yellow-green that would've seemed unhealthy back on Earth. He started out across it, using his cane to make sure of his footing. The last thing he needed was to trip and break something. Being alone here, that would quite possibly mean his death, and House wasn't ready for that yet. He glanced up into the sky; the sun was slightly more orangey than he was used to. Definitely alien, then. Glad to know he'd guessed right.

A short walk brought House to a sort of gully, about eight feet deep and three times that wide. There was no way he was going to be able to cross it, so he turned and began traveling parallel to it. The wind made the grass bow and twist around him, making a mournful, rattling sound. The air smelled faintly sweet, and it tickled House's nose as he breathed.

No animal noises broke the monotony of the wind. House was a little surprised. He would have thought that life would've evolved here, since it seemed like a pleasant enough world. Maybe House had the entire place to himself. Well, he pretty much preferred to spend time alone; what a perfect getaway, to have an entire planet to oneself.

But after a while, the emptiness of the place began to get on House's nerves. Despite his own inclinations he started wishing that someone – anyone – would come and at least try to capture him. That would make him feel better…yes, then Cameron could come and rescue him twice. Once they got close enough, certainly they'd be able to track his matter transporter belt. But then, if he were the only living creature on this planet it would certainly make him easier to locate.

The sun was moving across the blue-purple sky. It would be getting toward night, and House had no idea what sort of temperature drop he'd get once the sun went down. Right now, it was pretty warm, but there was no telling what would happen once night fell. House would have to find some sort of shelter before that occurred.

After a bit, the ground started rising. House could tell; it was a little harder to move forward. The gully he'd been following was also deepening and getting wider. Trees were now growing in the bottom, their tops at House's eye level. These were different; their trunks were even slimmer, the bark lighter and looking somewhat healthier. Their leaves were a truer green, and they had large pink and white blossoms on them that looked vaguely familiar to him. It was also the first time since waking up that House saw some form of life; insects were buzzing among the flowers, almost like bees did on House's own world. Although these were somewhat larger, around the size of hummingbirds…

House was glad to see that something had evolved there, but then you couldn't have flowering plants without insects to pollinate them. He kept walking, his legs getting tired but not wanting to stop anywhere near those huge bugs. He didn't want to be anywhere near them in case they stung. He had a feeling that just one could kill.

The slight rising of the ground finally stopped. House came out onto a small rise, overlooking a broad, flat area covered in more of the strange grass. The flowered trees had sprung up in patches, almost perfectly round, and two long lines of them stretched off into the distance. House knew immediately that those lines were in no way natural. They were far too straight for that.

Someone had to have planted them.

But even has House was internalizing that piece of information, he noticed something else: what looked like a perfect square of stone, sticking up out of the grass like a broken finger. Another, larger area was closer, and this time House was able to make out columns like teeth in front of it. A third area was actually in the shape of a curve, trees pushing through what looked like a roof.

His heart stopped as House recognized what he was seeing, although it had to have been impossible…

It was the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the White House.

He needed to sit down, but there wasn't anything nearby. House had to settle on the ground, and he practically fell on his ass as his legs gave out on him in shock.

He was in Washington, D.C. Just where he'd been with Cameron, before they'd been shot with that green ray gun.

No…no no no no…this wasn't right. He was seeing the ruins of Washington D.C. House couldn't get his mind wrapped around it, even after what he'd seen in his time with the Tomorrow People. There was no effing _way_ this could be true. House knew he must've suffered some sort of brain damage from that weird weapon, and he was dreaming. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time he'd had some sort of hallucination. He was in some sort of hospital somewhere, and he'd wake up and realize that everything was just fine, that he hadn't seen what was left of the capitol of the USA…

House actually resorted to pinching himself, although he knew, intellectually, that it wasn't going to prove anything. It didn't, and his upper arm stung for his trouble.

But after he came to the conclusion that it was stuck in this nightmare, his mind started asking questions. What the hell had happened, to him and to Washington? Certainly he wouldn't have slept through such a disaster – that was, if he really wasn't in some sort of injury-based delusion. He glanced back up at the sky. How could it have changed like that? Why was the sun a slightly different color? Of course, House knew about light refraction, and so guessed it was something in the atmosphere making it all look abnormal. But such changes didn't happen overnight. Plus there were the trees…trees didn't grow up overnight either. And the warehouse he'd been in – if he'd woken up in the same place he'd been knocked out in, then what had happened to the building? Then there was the question of the lack of animal life, and the weird bugs around those flowered trees – House realized they must be cherry blossoms, which was why he'd thought he'd recognized them, but they'd been just different enough to make him question that recognition. He looked over at the gully – now more of a trench – and with a shock suddenly knew that it had once been the Potomac River.

House wondered what the rest of the world was like. Had it suffered from whatever it had been that had done this to Washington? Were there any people left at all?

And what had happened to the Tomorrow People? Had they been able to at least fight against what had gone on?

What had happened to Cameron?

On the off-chance, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. It was completely dead, the display blank. He sat there and stared at it for a bit, as if wishful thinking would recharge it.

"That won't work here."

House practically flipped himself over backward, so quickly did he react to that voice. Standing just behind him was a woman.

No, she was more like a girl, maybe fifteen years old. Vibrant blue eyes regarded House closely, in a face with nice cheekbones and pale skin. Brown hair framed that face and fell down to her hips, a single small braid draped over her right shoulder. She was wearing a blue dress that matched her eyes and draped to her calves. Blue heel-less boots completed her ensemble, along with a silver scrollwork belt, necklace, and earrings.

"Tell me something I don't know," House snarked back, once he got his tongue moving out of its "frozen in shock" state.

The girl cocked her head to one side, a playful smile raising one corner of her mouth. "I could tell you my name, I suppose."

"That would work."

"I am Sanye. And you don't belong here."

He got clumsily to his feet, and noticed that she was as tall as he was. "Once again, something I already know. You might try to be more helpful and tell me just where "here" is."

Sanye stared at him for a second. House suddenly felt something itching in his head, recognizing it immediately. "Hey, stop trying to get into my mind!"

The girl looked startled. "You felt me?"

"Duh! I wouldn't have said stop if I hadn't."

"I see." She went back to studying him, without the attempted mind meld.

House waited for about two seconds, then snapped, "At least the rest of the Tomorrow People are polite enough not to go and try poking around without permission." He didn't recognize her, but then he only knew those TP in the group that hung out with Cameron.

Her blue eyes widened. "What did you just call me?"

"Look, I know what you are. It's pretty obvious, with you trying to pick my brain…literally. I'm just curious who taught you manners, because they didn't do a very good job of it."

But House began to doubt his own conclusions. Sanye seemed truly confused by what he'd said. But how could she not be a Tomorrow Person, since she apparently had at least telepathy? Jaunting was also pretty obvious since she'd appeared behind him without him hearing her.

Sanye crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at House as if she were trying to figure out a really nice puzzle. Then she blinked. "I am sorry, but I've not heard that term outside a classroom. But no, I am not a Tomorrow Person."

Now it was House's turn to examine her. Outside a classroom? What did that mean? "Then what are you?"

"That…is not important at this time. How did you get here?"

"If I knew the answer to that, I'd go back home and leave you to this place…wherever the hell this is." He knew what it looked like, but wasn't in the mood to play "Planet of the Apes" with anyone.

Wait…the moment that thought crossed his mind, it clicked with everything he'd seen since he'd regained consciousness.

It just seemed more impossible than anything else he'd ever experienced.

He regarded the girl closely. "I've traveled in time, haven't I? That really is Washington D.C., but changed over however long it's been. Shit…" he ran his fingers through his hair, as if he wanted to rip that notion right out of his brain, "how the hell did this happen? And how am I supposed to get back?" He started to pace. If he accepted that he'd somehow traveled forward in time, then he also had to accept that everyone he'd ever known was gone.

Cameron was dead. She wouldn't be coming for him after all.

No rescue. He was truly alone.

House gripped his cane so hard his fingers started to cramp. "What was it? Did we destroy each other? Is that why I haven't seen anyone around…besides you, that is?" He waved in Sanye's general direction. "But what about the Tomorrow People? Where are they? What happened to the Great Break-Out?" It must not have happened, if this was all that's left. _Homo Sapiens_ had done it; they'd managed to kill themselves and the only hope for the Earth.

He turned back to Sanye. "That's it, isn't it? The Saps destroyed it all, and it's been so long that things are coming back. How long has it been?"

The girl looked at him appraisingly. "I cannot tell you."

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?" House was livid. "I have to go back and stop it!"

"You cannot."

"Bullshit! It can't end like this!" For the first time in his life, House hated his own race. Yes, he'd been contemptible of human beings for a long while, but it had never bubbled over into pure hatred until that moment. "But…someone had to survive. I mean, you wouldn't be here if everyone was dead."

"No, everyone was killed," Sanye said sadly.

House just looked at her. "So, how do you explain your presence?"

She chewed her lip, and was silent for so long he was beginning to believe she was just going to stand there forever.

Then she seemed to come to a decision. She held out her hand. "Come with me."

House eyed her warily. "Where are we going?"

Sanye grinned. "Not where, Dr. House. When. Are you coming, or do you want to stay here for the rest of your life?"

No way was he staying there any longer. Besides, her answer transfixed him.

House took the girl's hand.

She held out her free hand. In the palm sat a small disc, with multicolor designs on its face. It began to glow softly.

As House felt himself fading away, he realized that she'd called him by his name. But he'd never introduced himself.

 

* * *

 

Cameron was given a set of scrubs to wear.

She normally didn't mind wearing them; and in fact did several times a week. But this was different; her own clothes were now considered property of the FBI, along with her stun gun and jaunting belt. Those last two were what really worried her, because that sort of technology shouldn't be in the hands of Saps, even well meaning ones like Booth and his people.

Well, Cameron was just going to have to wing it. If this was what John wanted, then this would be what he'd get.

She had a terrible headache, but at least she could access her powers. As she left the hospital she sent a thought toward Jeremy, to check on him.

" _Hey, Allison!"_ his happy voice rang in her aching brain. _"How are you? Are you okay?"_

Cameron was touched by his concern. _"I'm fine now. They looking after you all right?"_

" _Sure! We're on our way to the safe house now. Hopefully they'll catch the guy and we can go home soon. I'm looking forward to starting training and everything!"_

" _So am I. We'll get to that, I promise. Until then, do what the FBI tells you to do, and look after your mother."_

" _I will. See ya later, Allison."_

" _Count on it, Jeremy."_ His voice disappeared, leaving a void in her mind, which promptly filled up with pain once more. She winced a bit, hoping her escorts wouldn't notice.

Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan walked on each side of her, Booth with one hand on her elbow in either an attempt to make sure she didn't fall down, or that she didn't run off…whichever one happened first. There were two burly agents stalking along behind them; Cameron could feel the laser beams of their eyes boring into her back. Like it would really matter; she could jaunt out from the middle of the group with no problem. But telekinetically removing handcuffs when no one was looking was considerably different from making four very credible people witnesses to her complete disappearance. Things were bad enough as it was.

Intellectually, she knew John had the right idea. Whoever the Incinerator Killer was, they had access to technology that shouldn't be on Earth. That technology couldn't be allowed to fall into Sap hands either; it would be contamination of the worst sort, plus they couldn't run the risk of having whatever it was reverse-engineered and made into something horrible.

She got into the back of a black, government-issue SUV. Booth and Brennan got into the front, and they were off.

It allowed Cameron to really start worrying…about House. She had faith that John, Elena, and Tim would do everything they could to find him, but Cameron still wanted to be there. And yet, here she was, pretty much trapped into working with the Feds. He could be anywhere…could be hurt, or even dead.

Tears prickled her eyes, and she looked toward the window in order to hide it. No, he couldn't allow herself to think that. _"John?"_ she called.

" _Allison,"_ his voice had a calming influence on her emotions. _"I was just about to call you. We found something at the warehouse…unfortunately, it raises even more questions…"_

" _Tell me please."_

" _The detector found traces of energetic chronometric particles."_

That niggled something at the back of Cameron's memory. _"I think I've heard of those…but I can't remember."_

" _There's no reason you should. Energetic chronometric particles are a by-product of the creation of a time breach."_

" _Wait…a time breach?"_ Cameron was so surprised she actually gasped out loud.

"Are you okay?" Booth asked.

Cameron glanced forward. Booth's dark eyes were watching her in the rear view mirror. "Um…yes. I'm fine. My…head just hurts a bit, that's all."

"None of the tests that were done indicated a reason for your being unconscious," Dr. Brennan replied. "Perhaps there should be more done – "

"I'm sorry, but I really don't like to have doctors poking around. I'll be all right." She folded her arms, returning to stare out the window. _"So, you think House was somehow moved in time?"_

" _That is a distinct possibility. It would explain why no trace of him was found by the FBI's investigators."_

" _But how can that be?"_

" _Tim has hypothesized that, somehow, the disruptor interfered with Greg's matter transporter belt, creating a time breach. However, we can't be certain that's what really happened."_

" _Then why wasn't I transported – oh, I see. My jaunting belt isn't the same as a matter transporter belt."_

" _Exactly. Tim also says that your belt and stun gun would've also been affected by the disruptor, because of the technology involved. They'll be completely useless to the Saps."_

" _That just means they're useless to me, too…"_

" _Allison,"_ John's voice got suddenly very stern. _"This self-pitying attitude isn't going to do any of us any good."_

Cameron sighed. He was right. _"Sorry, John. I'm just worried about House. I'm completely helpless here!"_

" _I understand."_ His tone changed, and he was now comforting. _"And you're not helpless. You can try to keep the Saps out of trouble, at the same time helping them try to find the one who kidnapped Jeremy. We're doing everything we can to retrieve Greg. Tim is trying to figure out a way to contact the Time Guardians as we speak. We'll find him, Allison."_

" _I know. Just keep me up to date, okay?"_

" _You know we will. You can do this, Allison. I have faith in you."_

Cameron sighed, as the link was broken. Her head was really pounding now, and she laid it back against the seat, trying to relax. But despite John's encouraging words, she knew the chances of them locating House throughout time were practically nil. If he'd been a patient, she'd have to declare him terminal. She felt like she'd never see him again, and the pain in her chest threatened to cut off her breathing.

She'd actually managed to doze off, when the car stopped and the engine was turned off. Cameron opened her eyes; Booth and Brennan were getting out, so she followed suit.

The Jeffersonian was an imposing structure, even from the back. She walked with the pair through a security checkpoint – Booth vouching for her – and into the building. Cameron had never been there before, so this would have been a treat for her, if it hadn't been for the circumstances.

The laboratory they finally entered into was huge and high-tech…by Earth standards. Cameron looked around the open space, taking it all in. She absolutely believed that they could solve the puzzle of the Incinerator Killer…but at what cost, to them and to the human race in particular? The sort of technology involved was far beyond what she was seeing here, in this supposedly state-of-the-art lab. And protecting the human race from potential damage done by alien incursion – either by technology or invasion – was one of the things the Tomorrow People did best.

"Wait here," Booth advised. He and Brennan went up to a second level, swiping an ID card on the way. Like that sort of security would stop her if she really wanted to get up there…

Cameron found a chair, and sat. She was a little put out by it. After all, she was here, offering to help, and it looked as if they were cutting her out already. Okay, maybe she could see Booth's point of view, that she was a stranger who'd done some pretty weird things…but come on! Even he had to know that she'd be able to bypass that flimsy excuse for a security measure in a heartbeat.

But then…maybe this was a test, to see if they could trust her. Could be…well, she'd just sit there and wait for them to make up their minds about her. She just hoped they'd make it quickly.

She watched as Booth was stopped by a handsome, bearded man. Although she couldn't hear what they were saying, Cameron could tell it was about her by the way the man jerked his chin in her direction. Probably just asking who the strange woman in the hospital scrubs was, she decided.

Booth walked deeper into the lab. But the man turned to look at her, and there was something in his eyes that made Cameron a little uncomfortable. It looked like awe…

Then he was coming down the steps toward her. Cameron rose to greet him; might as well be polite to the people she'd be working with.

"I'm Dr. Jack Hodgins," the man introduced himself. That look in his eyes was even more intense up close.

"You can call me Allison," Cameron said in return. She was a little surprised that he wasn't offering his hand, people usually did when introducing themselves, but she wasn't going to question it. In TP circles, such contact could sometimes be unpleasant.

"Um…are you really a higher evolutionary?" he blurted.

Her mouth fell open. "Am I a what?"

"A higher evolutionary! Booth said you were!" Now Hodgins was getting excited. "This is so cool! Never in a million years did I think I'd ever meet one of you, but I've heard all the rumors and theories. You look too young to have taken part in that alien invasion in 1978 – "

Okay, this was surreal. This guy actually knew about the Sorson/Thargon incident? He was right, Cameron was too young to have been involved; but John had, and she'd heard from Tim what had happened.

Cameron held up her hand to stave off the threatened tidal wave of words. "Look, I don't know what Agent Booth told you – "

"Just that you're a higher evolutionary. See, the moment Booth started talking about people vanishing into thin air, I knew it had to be one of you, because of the teleporting." He leaned a little closer. "Are you actually telepathic _and_ telekinetic? It makes sense; genetic mutation would still be continuing in humans, so there was bound to be another evolutionary path sooner or later!"

Now Cameron was smiling. This guy sure was earnest about it, wasn't he? Should she encourage him? Or tell him he was wrong?

"Look, I won't say anything. I know you guys are in hiding until there are more of you, so I understand why you want to keep all this a secret. I have so many questions, but I guess just having met you is enough." Hodgins started back up toward the lab area.

"Wait." Cameron decided to bite the bullet and confirm at least some of his suspicions. Booth had obviously set him on her to bother her the way she'd done him, and Cameron was damned if that was going to work. Of course, telling a Sap about herself was something she wouldn't normally consider, but Hodgins seemed honest enough. And it would certainly get back at Booth.

He turned back, a hopeful expression on his face.

"You certainly seem to know a lot about it," she said.

Hodgins nodded. "Well you have to be careful what you believe, but the evidence is out there if you dig deep enough."

"Then you must know we're only here to protect mankind."

The man caught the implied admission. He went very serious. " _I_ do, but there are some people out there who think you're out to take over."

Cameron nodded, well aware of that fact. "Well, someday maybe, but it'll be through natural selection, not because we usurped power or anything."

"Yeah, I understand that. The stories are so conflicting sometimes, you have to sort through them for the truth."

"And you think you have all the truth?"

"Not by a long shot! I'm sure you can tell me a lot of things that aren't out on any of the conspiracy websites."

Oh, yes. Cameron thought she could come to like Hodgins. The man had a healthy curiosity but at the same time didn't keep his mind so open his mind fell out. Besides, the Tomorrow People had always had Sap friends… "You realize, of course, that if I do tell you anything you have to keep it to yourself."

His eyes went wide. "Are you going to tell me something that I need to keep secret?" The guy was practically bouncing.

"I might. But I need your word."

"You have it! Oh, wait…" He went serious again. "I can't withhold anything that might affect the investigation – "

"You won't have to. I promise. I'm here to help with the investigation. I won't do anything to jeopardize it. It's too important."

"It's about that Jeremy kid, right?" His eyebrows suddenly shot up. "He's one of you, isn't he?"

"Got it in one." Cameron was impressed.

"But if someone is going around targeting higher evolutionaries – "

"No, Jeremy was the only one."

Hodgins' expression cleared. "Okay, then. You have my word."

She nodded. "Good. First off though, we don't call ourselves higher evolutionaries. We're the Tomorrow People – "

 

* * *

 

"Stay here," Booth told Allison.

She looked a little put out, but obeyed.

Booth wanted to trust her, he really did. They needed help with this, before anyone else was killed, and at this point he was willing to take it from anywhere.

But he needed her to earn that trust. He knew damned well that if she wanted to get into the security area, she'd be able to. While he didn't understand exactly what she was and what she could do, he did know that he was dealing with something beyond his experience. And that bothered him quite a bit.

"Hey, who's that?" Hodgins asked, jerking his chin toward the reception area.

Booth glanced at Allison. She was sitting in a chair, her arms crossed and looking a little bored. Then he looked at Hodgins…and realized this could be interesting. He leaned closer to the man, "She's one of your higher evolutionaries," he answered.

Hodgins' eyes got real wide. "You're shitting me!"

"Would I do that?" Booth answered innocently.

The squint looked positively awestruck. "Oh, man…" He took off down the steps.

Booth watched as Allison stood at his approach. He saw her mouth fly open, then she looked at him, her eyes narrowing. The agent felt she was looking into his soul. He shivered slightly.

"That was mean, Booth."

He turned at Angela's comment. "What?"

"Telling Jack that she's a higher evolutionary. Do you have to tease him like that?" She had her hands on her hips, looking like she was spoiling for a fight.

Booth grinned. A woman protecting her man was a nice sight to behold. "Who said I was teasing him?" He continued on into the security area, smirking at her. Angela's pretty face changed from anger to surprise, and she glanced at Allison as well.

Zack was sitting at a computer terminal, staring at it so hard Booth had to wonder if he were trying to concentrate away what was on it…which to the agent looked just like another skull. As far as he was concerned, you've seen one skull…

He joined Brennan at one of the many examining tables of the lab; this was had Allison's belongings spread out all over it. She was speaking to Dr. Camille Saroyan; Cam caught Booth's eye, smiling at his approach. While his relationship with Cam might be over, he could still admire how nice she actually looked in the regulation blue jumpsuit she was wearing. "What's up?"

"Seeley," Cam greeted. She was the only one in the lab to call him by his first name. "I was just telling Dr. Brennan about our analysis of our mystery woman's clothes. Of course, normally Hodgins would be doing it, but he seems to be distracted at the moment…"

"Sorry." He wasn't, not really. "What've we got?"

"The tags in the shirt and pants are to a national clothing chain, so there's no way to trace them back to any particular store. The shoes are from a smaller chain, but still it only narrows it down to five states: Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, and Virginia."

"At least there're 45 less states to deal with." He looked at both women. "Hey, glass-half-full guy here…"

"The vest though…" Cam picked up the dark blue garment, fingering the cloth, "comes from a trendy shop in London, England."

"Maybe she went there on vacation," Brennan theorized.

"Makes sense. Now, here's where things get interesting…" This time Cam picked up the belt.

Booth was intrigued. It certainly didn't go with the rest of Allison's outfit, but then he was a guy and didn't understand some of what women called "dress-sense."

"The fabric itself is made primarily of a tough canvas material, but there are microfibers woven throughout it that indicate some form of technology involved. And, when we took a closer look at the buckle," she held up the odd, checkerboard patterned piece, "it appears to be made of a very high grade form of ceramic. Hodgins ran an analysis on the fibers and ceramic, and couldn't get a match on anything in our data bases."

Booth whistled. "Kinda like its owner: unknown."

"Exactly." Cam put the belt down, and then reached for the final item: the gun.

Now, this Booth was interested in. Normally, a weapon would have been sent into Bureau for ballistics testing, but this metal gun was too weird…and it didn't appear to work anyway. So he'd had it packed up and sent to the Jeffersonian with everything else they'd taken from the unconscious Allison.

"We're not really set up here to do the kind of in-depth technological analysis on this," Cam said, "but metallurgical testing shows it's made of some sort of alloy…and not one known to modern science. Hodgins about blew his mind when he got the results back."

"Oh yeah, I can imagine." Booth could; it would fit right into the man's conspiracy theories…hell, they were living one of those theories right now!

"Did you find any trace evidence on the clothes?" Brennan asked.

"We did." Cam put the weapon down, leaning her hands on the table. "Nothing that jumped out at us though, except for this." She pointed to an almost invisible stain on the pants. "We analyzed it and came up with saline."

"She's not wearing contacts," Booth said.

"Not that kind of saline, Seeley. This is hospital grade, used in I.V. solution."

Booth thought about that. He remembered watching her in the security footage from the hospital. Had she been wearing those pants then?

No…she'd been wearing nurse's scrubs.

"So," Brennan said, "she either got it when she was in the hospital, or she works in one."

"She works in one," Booth stated. When both women stared at him, he simply shrugged. "I just know, okay?"

"But there are tens of thousands of hospitals in the U.S.," Cam pointed out.

"Ah, but how many are there in those five states where the shoes came from?" He was getting that familiar excitement, when he knew he was onto something.

"Wait." Brennan looked at Booth directly. "Do we really want to look any farther into this?" At Booth's disbelieving expression, she went on. "Allison has chosen to help us with our investigation. Should we repay that by snooping into her private life, just because she's a mystery you want to solve?"

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Bones, wanting to give this up? "Are you sick or something?" he asked bluntly. He put his hand on her forehead. "Nope, no fever…"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying we should repay her for her aid by leaving her alone. What's so wrong with that, Booth?"

Okay, maybe she had a point. But Booth couldn't help but think Allison knew more about the Incinerator Killer than she was telling. And while he couldn't say that her background wouldn't yield answers, it might. He wanted to follow every lead they had. If it meant that maniac didn't kill again…he'd do whatever needed to be done.

"Look, I hear what you're saying…and maybe you're right." He hated lying to his partner, but there was no way Booth was letting this go. He _needed_ to know more about Allison, to figure out just who – and what – she was. And he didn't want to get into an argument with Bones about this. "Let's just give her back her clothes, okay?"

Brennan smiled. "Good."

"But we keep the funky gun."

"Agreed." She proceeded to gather up everything, folding the garments neatly. But when she turned to leave, she took one step and stopped. "Looks like I don't have to go far."

Booth followed her gaze. There was Allison, standing beside Hodgins, who was apparently introducing her to Angela. "Oh great." The squint had just let an unknown person into a secured area without checking with anyone about it…although, he knew damned well Allison could have gotten in on her own, it was the principle of the thing.

He strode over to the trio. Allison looked at him, smiling slightly. "Agent Booth," she said. "I was just telling Jack and Angela what a great lab this is."

Booth wanted to find something in her tone that would piss him off, but she seemed genuine. "Yeah, well…I'm sure it's not quite up to your standards."

She recognized the sarcasm for what it was, and answered in kind. "You're right, but it'll do."

"You can have these back," Brennan said, pushing around Booth.

Allison took the offered clothes. "Thank you, Dr. Brennan. Feels a little strange walking around in these." She indicated the scrubs.

Booth sincerely doubted that, but didn't call her on it. There was no point really; she'd just deny it.

"Is there somewhere I can change?"

"Sure," Angela answered. "Come on." She led Allison away, toward the offices.

"Well, I'm impressed," Hodgins said, as they left earshot.

"Big surprise there." Booth was regretting telling the squint about her being one of his higher evolutionaries. "Did she tell you anything interesting, like something we can use?"

"Why would she tell me anything?" Hodgins denied.

The man was a horrible liar. Booth could tell she'd said something, but he had to trust that Hodgins would have said if it had anything to do with the investigation. "If she does…"

Now Hodgins did the eye-rolling thing. He'd apparently been around Brennan too long. "God, Booth, you're more paranoid than I am…" He sat down at his station, tapping commands into the keyboard.

The agent wanted to smack the scientist on the back of the head, but managed to stifle the reflex.

In somewhat less than a minute, Allison and Angela returned, the mystery woman once more dressed and presentable, her brown hair pulled back from her face in a pony tail. She held the scrubs, rolled up, under her arm. The weird belt really didn't look like it belonged with her outfit. "Thank you again, Dr. Brennan," she said warmly. "I was actually getting a little chilly."

"You're welcome," Brennan replied, just as warmly. "The temperature is kept down in here, in order to aid in preservation."

God…it was becoming a regular love fest in there…Booth didn't understand why they were accepting Allison so easily. But then, he was naturally suspicious…

Then his cell rang. Saved by the bell…"Booth."

"Agent Booth, this is Stanley. We might have another victim…"

 

* * *

 

House found himself on what looked like a jaunting pad, Sanye at his side and holding his hand.

He took a step off the pad, practically dragging the girl with him. The room they were in was stark white, and the furniture – looking all futuristic and plastic – was a light blue. There were no windows, so he couldn't tell if he was on a planet, a spaceship, or some sort of station. In House's experience, it could have been any one of them.

Sanye released her grip on him. She seemed a little surprised for some reason. "I would have thought someone would be here to meet us…" She headed toward what looked like a door in one wall. It slid open as she approached. "Please wait here." Sanye went through it without a backward glance. It closed behind her.

No freaking way. House stomped toward the door, meaning to follow her…and nearly bumped his nose on it when it completely failed to open for him.

"Shit." He should've realized it wouldn't be that easy. Gone from post-apocalyptic Earth to alien prison. Just great.

He took a seat on one of the plastic chairs, to try to take some of the pressure off his leg. It was screaming at him, telling him to take a Vicodin, and House obeyed, dry swallowing one. He'd have to conserve though; he had no idea if wherever he was even had anything like them, and he was a long way from his local pharmacist.

The chair may have looked plastic, but it was soft, and apparently molded itself to his body. House leaned back, suddenly tired but also wanting to know what the hell was going on. His mind started working, trying to put the pieces of Sanye and his surroundings together into a recognizable pattern.

She'd said she wasn't a Tomorrow Person, and yet she had telepathy and could jaunt. What did that make her, then? And what was this shit about only hearing the term in class?

That led House to only one conclusion: that the Tomorrow People didn't exist any more. That they'd either become something else…or been wiped out, in whatever disaster that had happened to Earth.

Maybe Sanye was an alien…that would make sense. She wouldn't necessarily know about the Tomorrow People, but might have learned about them. That was a distinct possibility.

The longer House sat there, the more bored he got, which was dangerous. He thumped his cane into the palm of his hand, the impact stinging but he not minding in the least. "Hello!" he called out, guessing that whoever was here had to be monitoring him. "You know, this is all sorts of fun, but I think some sort of explanation would be really helpful about now!"

He waited, and just when he thought there wouldn't be a response the door swished open again. Sanye was there, accompanied by a man who looked to be in his twenties, with flowing blond hair and dressed in gray. He looked like he didn't get out much; his skin was pale and he was thin.

"Do you often talk to yourself?" Sanye asked, a smile curling up one side of her mouth.

"It's the only way I can get any sort of intelligent conversation," House answered, standing.

The man looked amused. "I would welcome you, but Sanye broke several rules by bringing you here."

House looked at the girl with new respect. A rule-breaker? Just his kind of person.

"I explained to you – " she protested.

"Yes, you did. And we're willing to accept it…for now. As it is, you've now stuck us with a dilemma." Actually, he didn't look all that bothered. He walked toward House, although he didn't offer his hand. "My name is Peter."

Now that was a human name. Which threw House's alien theory pretty much out of the window. "Can someone tell me what the hell is going on around here?" he demanded.

"That, Dr. House, will be difficult – " Peter began.

"And you know who I am? How do you know that?"

Peter and Sanye glanced at each other, and House could tell they we speaking telepathically. So much for manners… "Do you have any idea just how rude that is?"

Peter sighed, breaking contact with the girl. "You're right, but we don't often speak aloud here. The only people here use telepathy."

"But you're not Tomorrow People, according to her." He gestured to Sanye.

"No, we're not. And Sanye should never have admitted as much, let alone call you by name." He looked at her again, and Sanye quailed under his gaze. "However, she is only a junior acolyte. She shouldn't have even been on Earth in the first place."

"But I explained – " she contested hotly.

"Yes, and I said we were accepting that explanation. For the time being. As of now, however, you are a complication in an already complication situation. We don't know what to do with you, that won't make things worse than they already are."

House was pissed. It appeared these people were discussing his future without him being involved. "And just what have I done that makes things worse?"

Peter shook his head. "Sanye was actually the one who's responsible, not you. But we have no explanation as to how you got here in the first place."

"Well, if you don't know…shit." He ran his hand through his hair. "You guys look so advanced, but you can't tell me how the hell I got here?"

Peter raised his hands, in an effort to quell House's rant. "Perhaps if you explained what happened, we might figure out what happened."

House took a deep breath. Okay, he could handle that.

So he explained about the Incinerator Killer, and how they'd been trying to track him down. About the warehouse, and the weird green light beam. And about waking up on an Earth that wasn't Earth.

Peter listened to it all, without interrupting once. When House was done, the man looked back at Sanye, and once again that strange unspoken communication flowed between them.

"Hey…Sap in the room!" House snapped. These people were really getting on his nerves.

They stopped. Peter turned his attention back to House. "We'd like to run some tests on you, in order to find out what occurred in that warehouse."

"What sort of tests?" House didn't mind testing his patients, but when it came to himself…

"We want to do scans of your clothing and equipment, in order to see if there is any evidence to determine what sent you to that future Earth."

Well, that didn't sound too bad. "And are you going to tell me just where I am now?"

Peter actually chewed his lip. "We…cannot. We have rules that must be obeyed."

"Then how about how you know who I am." House was pissed beyond belief. They were going to leave him in the dark because of some so-called rules.

"Sanye…managed to scan your mind for a few seconds, and discovered it that way."

"You should leave the lying to the professionals."

Peter actually smiled. "Believe me, if I could tell you, I would. And it may be that we'll be able to, once we find out just what happened. For now…I am sorry, Dr. House. You'll have to remain ignorant of certain things. But that doesn't mean we can't make you comfortable. Sanye will see to your needs, and we'll come and fetch you when we're ready to start the tests."

House was so tempted to pull his stun gun, and threaten Peter with it, but he somehow doubted it would accomplish much. He was surprised it hadn't been taken away from him, but then…what good could he do with it? Where would he go? Especially since he didn't have a clue as to where he was…

Instead, he threw up his hands in disgust. "Great. A prisoner _again_ …" He wondered how Cameron handled it, because House certainly didn't have the patience.

"Hopefully it will only be temporary."

House didn't want to hear those kinds of platitudes. "Yeah? And what happens if it isn't?"

Peter looked apologetic. "I am sorry…I certainly hope it doesn't come to that…" With that veiled threat, he left the room.

That left Sanye, who House rounded on almost immediately. "So, what now? Do we sit here and twiddle our thumbs, since you can't tell me anything?"

She looked upset. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought you here, but I could not leave you there. The radiation levels alone…"

Those words made House shiver. "How bad?"

"Bad enough. You are fine, but if you'd stayed there overnight…"

"So there's no danger of me not being able to have children." He put as much sarcasm as he could into the statement.

That comment actually made Sanye blush. "No, there's no danger of that."

That confused House. Damn, was she that uptight? "Okay…is there anything you can tell me?"

"Yes. That you do not have to worry about being here forever. They shall have to return you home eventually." She looked at him knowingly.

"That might relieve me, but for the fact that there's no way you can be certain about that."

"I can. Although there are certain people in denial over that fact." Sanye smiled. "Now, is there anything I can get for you? Are you hungry perhaps?"

House looked at her closely. Sanye was looking serene, as if she didn't have a care in the world. He wanted to get more information out of her, but knew instinctively that it would be impossible. She wasn't going to tell him a thing.

 

* * *

 

The tests were nothing much at all, except they wanted to take House's matter transporter belt away.

That actually made him nervous. A part of him was still hoping for rescue from Cameron and John, and the belt would lead them to him. So he fought them on that, until Sanye pointed out that his transport might have been caused by a reaction through the belt's circuitry, and did he want to risk it happening again?

So he handed the belt over to a sour-faced scientist named Corley, who flatly refused to speak to House and relied on Sanye to translate. Sanye apologized, saying that the elderly scientist hadn't used vocal speech in centuries.

Centuries? Yeah, the guy sure looked it…

That didn't surprise House at all. After all, he'd seen so much weirdness, why not someone who'd lived that long?

But when Corley promptly disassembled the matter transporter, House about came across the table at him.

"Please, be calm!" Sanye tried to get him to back off. "He knows what he's doing!"

The older man was practically cowering under the stool he'd been sitting on. He looked at House as if he were some sort of animal, not sure what he was going to do.

"Okay…okay, I'm sorry." He wasn't, not really. He knew the Tomorrow People were basically non-violent, but this guy took the cake. But then, he wasn't really a TP, at least according to Sanye.

The scientist got back to his feet, settling himself back on his stool and starting work on the belt again. He ran several instruments over the mechanism, and a couple of them actually beeped. Corley made his first noise then, an "hmph" that sounded as if he were very much interested in what his devices where telling him.

"Was that good?" House asked.

"I don't know," Sanye answered. "He didn't tell me anything."

House started pacing, stumping around the white-walled lab like some sort of specter. He hated waiting. He needed to be _doing_ …

He thought about Cameron, and what she was doing now. Had the FBI gotten her, or had she escaped? He wasn't about to admit that he was worried about her. But he also knew John would come as soon as Tim could call him, if something happened to her. And John took his role as the leader of the Tomorrow People seriously.

Corley sat up, and looked meaningfully at Sanye. House ground his teeth in frustration, as he impatiently waited for the translation.

In the moment that it seemed Corley was done with his report, Peter jaunted into the lab. House glared at him, for not coming in the polite way: through the door. But then, this was their world, and maybe it was lucky they even had doors…

"Will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?" House snapped, his patience at an end.

"Please, Dr. House," Peter said calmly. "There's no need for that kind of language."

House rolled his eyes. "Shit, you sound just like Tim…"

Peter started at that. He threw a glance at Sanye, who was looking very smug indeed. House could practically hear the "I told you so!" travel across the room.

Suddenly, it hit House like a lightning bolt. "You know Tim, don't you." It didn't have to be a question, because he already knew.

The other man sighed. "This just gets more and more complicated…"

 

* * *

 

They'd been nice enough to lend Cameron one of their nice blue jumpsuits, so she wouldn't mess herself up…or mess up the crime scene.

She was a little surprised she was being granted this sort of access. She stood over the burned body, the smell of cooked flesh filling her nostrils and making her a little ill. Cameron glanced over at Booth, wondering if this was another of his tests of her, to see if she could handle the grossness. Well, she could. She just didn't like it at all.

Dr. Brennan was crouching next to the victim, poking around as if this were an interesting puzzle instead of a dead body. It reminded Cameron forcibly of House, and she had to ram that thought down ruthlessly. Yes, she was desperately worried about him, but she had to concentrate on the task at hand.

" _John."_ She sent, as she stared at the corpse.

" _What do you have, Allison?"_

" _Another body, looks like the same M.O. as the others. I'd have to say male, but beyond that I'll have to wait for the experts."_

" _It's almost as if he's escalating…"_

" _And we could've been the ones forcing it…"_

"I'd have to say male, perhaps mid-twenties, of Mongoloid descent: Asian most likely," she was saying, as she poked and prodded the corpse. "There are some marks on the body consistent with torture, but Cam can confirm that in autopsy." She stood up. "Are we clear to get him back to the Jeffersonian?"

"Crime scene guys are just about done," Booth answered.

"Good. I want to get started on him immediately."

Cameron reported the findings back to John, who said, _"I'll get Tim to check missing persons reports, see is anything comes up."_

"Are you okay?"

She looked up into Brennan's concerned gaze. "I'm fine. It's just a little…icky, I believe is the technical term."

Booth snorted. Brennan smiled. "As good a term as any."

"Is there anything you see around here that's of any help?" the FBI agent snarked.

"Has anyone figured out what kind of flamethrower was used on all the victims?"

Booth raised an eyebrow at that. Cameron knew very well that that piece of information hadn't been released to the press, hence their insistence on calling him the Incinerator Killer. "I won't even ask how you knew that – "

"Good thing."

" – but no, we haven't."

Cameron nodded. She'd thought as much, since it wasn't in the FBI database. "And this has to be a dump job…although I'm sure you'd already guessed that. But this maniac just lost his safe place – the warehouse. Just where did he find somewhere, so fast, that he could kill again so quickly? Or was this victim actually before Jeremy?"

"We'll get time of death at the autopsy," Brennan replied. "Although you do raise some very good questions."

"Yeah," Booth said grudgingly, "although I was thinking the same thing. Are you a mind reader or something?"

Cameron smirked at his tone, and let him wonder.

" _Allison,"_ John's voice interrupted, _"Tim has come up with four possible victims. Is there a time of death yet?"_

" _No, that'll come with the autopsy. You know, I was thinking…maybe we should do a more in-depth chemical analysis of the burns. It might give us a clue."_

" _I have taken the opportunity to check with the FBI database,"_ Tim jumped in, _"and there are some interesting inconsistencies in their test results. I believe your suggestion has merit, Allison."_

" _So we need to get more access to the body then."_ John mused. _"I doubt we'll be able to just jaunt in."_

" _I'm afraid not. Security is too tight."_

" _Then we'll have to come up with something else. Good work, Allison."_

"Let's get Mr. Crispy back to the Jeffersonian then," Booth said briskly. He waved a gurney forward.

Cameron wanted to comment on his attempt at humor, but refrained. She didn't think it would do any good.

* * *

The body lay on Dr. Saroyan's autopsy table, while the coroner in question performed her tests.

"I'd have to say he's been dead about a week," she reported.

"So definitely before Jeremy," Booth murmured, watching from a distance.

"Exactly."

Cameron silently reported the time of death to Tim, and the supercomputer thanked her politely.

"There are very clear signs of torture," she went on, pointing out places on the burnt-up corpse. "And on the back – " Dr. Saroyan carefully tipped it over – "there are the taser marks." A pair of faint puncture wounds could be seen.

"So he was set on fire from the front," Cameron mused.

Dr. Saroyan looked at her in surprise. "That's right. If it had been from another direction, the taser marks would've been obliterated." She settled the body back on its back.

" _Allison,"_ Tim cut in, _"there is a 98.5672 percent probability that your victim is Paul Joseph Nguyen, a twenty-four year old medical student at George Washington University Medical Center. He was reported missing twelve days ago. This is not an exact identification, however; I have to add in the possibility that this could be either someone not having been reported missing; a homeless person; or someone from outside the search area. However, since the Incinerator Killer only disposes of his victims in the area from which they were taken, that last possibility only adds .002 percent to the calculation."_

" _Thank you, Tim."_

" _You are quite welcome."_

"How are you going to get an identification of the victim?" Cameron asked out loud, not ready to give her own information quite yet.

"The fingertips are too burned to get prints from," Dr Saroyan replied.

"Then," Brennan answered, "as soon as we get all the information we can from the flesh, we'll remove it and use the skull to create a virtual picture of our victim."

Cameron was somewhat alarmed by that; once the flesh was removed, they could very well lose a vital piece of evidence. "What about missing persons' reports?"

"Sure," Booth said, sounded nettled by the question. "But if the vic wasn't reported missing…well, that would suck completely."

"We need to have as much corroboration as possible on the identification," Brennan went on, looking at Cameron oddly. "You do want to know who this was, don't you?"

"Of course." Cameron tried to backpedal.

"Then step back and let us do our jobs."

" _John, if you want to get those readings on the flamethrower residue, if needs to be soon."_ Cameron reported on what she'd just been told.

" _Damn,"_ came the reply. _"Can't you tell them who the man was?"_

" _Sure I could,"_ Cameron snapped. _"But they won't just take my word for it. And even Tim isn't 100 percent certain of his identification."_

" _All right then. Tell them you want to perform your own tests."_

" _O…kay…"_ Cameron stepped up. "I want to perform my own tests."

The three others looked at her closely. "Just what sort of tests do you want to perform?" Dr. Saroyan wanted to know.

"Does it matter, as long as it could give us more information?"

Booth didn't look happy. "Hell right it matters!"

Cameron stared him in the eye. "I told you, I had access to equipment that could help. Let me use it."

"But we want evidence that'll stand up in court – "

"You want to catch this guy, right?"

"Yes! But not at the risk that he could end up back on the streets because we can't justify how we got the information we're using to put him away!"

"Then why accept my help in the first place?"

"She has a point, Booth," Brennan pointed out.

"Besides, Seeley," Dr Saroyan added, "we'll have enough evidence to put the bastard away without bringing it all out."

Booth threw up his hands. "Fine! You do whatever you want. If it gets the killer…"

"Thank you, Agent Booth," Cameron said graciously. _"Okay, John. What do you want me to do?"_

" _I'll be the one performing the tests. Tell them to expect me."_

Her mouth wanted to fall open in surprise, but she had to maintain her calm façade. _"It's bad enough that I have to be here…why can't you just send me the equipment?"_

" _Allison, you know I trust you…but I want a look for myself. Besides, I don't want them to get any more clues about you than they already have. If you show more medical knowledge than they think you have – "_

" _I see."_ She didn't, not really. "Okay, the equipment is coming. But I want your word, Agent Booth: that the man bringing the equipment and doing the testing won't be detained in any way. Once he's done, he'd be free to go."

Booth didn't look very happy at all. "Aren't you asking a little much?"

"I don't think so. After all, you'll still have me here. I'm not going anywhere until after this maniac is caught."

The FBI agent looked torn. Cameron knew he wanted to know all he could about her and what she was, but there was no way she was going to let John fall into his eager hands. Not that John couldn't just leave when he wanted…but it was the principle of the thing.

Finally, the concession came. "Okay, fine. Whatever…"

_"John, whenever you're ready…although I don't like this at all…"_

" _I understand your reticence, Allison. But this is better than the equipment just appearing in their lab…"_

" _I guess you're right."_

" _Tell Agent Booth that I'll meet him outside the Jeffersonian in 15 minutes."_

" _I will."_ She just hoped John knew what he was doing…"He'll be here in 15 minutes. He wondered if you might meet him outside, Agent Booth."

"Sure. Why not?" He was looking completely frustrated now.

Cameron could feel for him.

 

* * *

 

Booth practically stormed through the Jeffersonian, toward the front entrance, anger and frustration making him grind his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

His first question was: Just how in the hell had Allison gotten someone here without having to call them?

It was just one more mystery about the woman. She'd vanished from Jeremy's house without anyone seeing; and she'd gotten out of those handcuffs without any trouble at all. Now she was talking to people who weren't there, and without using any sort of normal way of communication. It was bizarre and more than a little freaky.

Well, he could always ask Hodgins…he was sure the guy had some sort of idea. No, he probably knew more about these so-called higher evolutionaries than anyone. Maybe Booth needed to have a little sit-down with the squint and pump his brain…

Booth made it to the immense foyer, looking around. He assumed whoever was coming would know him…why not? Sure, he was certain it would be someone he'd never met before, but since Allison had asked him to go and get him, it just made sense.

"Agent Booth?"

Bingo…

The agent turned. The man standing there was about his height, with dark hair and dark eyes. Booth put his age at early fifties. He was dressed conservatively in dark pants and a pale blue shirt, over which was a leather jacket that looked very well worn indeed.

But it was his attitude that really struck Booth: it was as if he knew he was smarter than anyone else, and expected others to realize it too. It reminded Booth of other scientists he'd had to deal with. Okay, yeah…they'd been book smarter, but Booth could always show them a thing or two.

"That's me," Booth agreed. "And you are…?"

"Call me John," came the response.

At which Booth noticed something else: his British accent. His mind went back to what they'd discovered about Allison's clothes, and the vest that had come from London.

"We're going to have to search your bag," Booth said, nodding to the old-fashioned doctor's bag the man carried.

John shrugged. He handed the bag to Booth, who opened it to reveal a neatly arranged compartment with various tools fitted into slots along the sides and several pieces of equipment that looked almost low tech…one of them resembled an old fashioned clunky calculator with a screen welded on.

And this was supposed to help?

Booth handed the bag back to the man. "Let's go."

He led John back into the Jeffersonian, only stopping at the security desk to get him a temporary pass. Then together the two men headed into the lab area.

And hopefully to get some answers.

The problem was, Booth had been serious about needing evidence they could actually use in court. Would what this guy found out be admissible?

And could Booth trust either him or Allison to give them the complete truth?

"Quite impressive," John commented as they entered the lab proper. He was looking around curiously.

Booth couldn't quite tell if the guy was being serious or sarcastic.

They walked up the steps side by side. The first to see them were Angela and Hodgins…and it looked as if the guy had been waiting for them.

Of course he had. Duh…

John stopped, and introduced himself. Which Booth hadn't been expecting at all, judging from the man's superior attitude. Hodgins did the honors for himself and Angela, although he didn't offer to shake hands. Neither did Angela, which was odd because she was usually pretty tactile.

Hodgins was grinning so widely, it was like the squint had won the lottery…oh yeah; he didn't need to win the lottery.

"Let's go," Booth said brusquely, shooing the man deeper in the lab and toward the autopsy area.

"Are all the Tomorrow People so hot?" he heard Angela say as they moved away.

_Tomorrow People?_ What the hell?

He didn't catch Hodgins' response, because Booth was busily chewing that over. Where had that come from? Had Allison said something to him? They'd been talking, after all. Maybe that sit-down with Hodgins was going to have to come sooner rather than later…

Cam and Brennan were waiting for them, with the unknown corpse. Allison was standing in a corner, and she came forward as the two men came into the room. She nodded to John, and he returned the nod before doing the introduction thingy again.

When he got to Brennan, John actually reached out and took her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Brennan," he greeted her warmly. "I thoroughly enjoyed your monograph, "The Effects of Isolation on the Physiology of Indigenous Celtic Tribes." It was most enlightening."

"Thank you," Brennan answered, smiling. "It wasn't much printed outside scientific circles, though. How did you come across it?"

"I have contacts in many fields. And I have many different interests." Damn, was the man _flirting_ with her?

Brennan opened her mouth, and Booth just knew she was going to go into a deep and highly confusing – to him at least – conversation with the newcomer if he didn't nip it in the bud. "So, you think you can find something on the body that we missed?" he challenged, practically putting himself between John and Brennan.

"That's why I'm here," he answered, taking a step back. "Although I know your equipment here is first-rate, sometimes they might not be enough to determine certain things we'll need to know in order to capture this killer." His voice had gone into what Booth called "lecture mode."

If this guy wasn't some sort of scientist, Booth would eat his tie.

"Well, the body is all yours," Cam said, motioning to the burnt corpse. "If there's anything you need…"

"Thank you, Dr. Saroyan. I shall not hesitate to ask."

With that, John got to work. He set the bag down on the nearest table, then availed himself of a set of sterile gloves. He first did a visual observation of the corpse, although he didn't actually touch it. He didn't seem particularly grossed out at either the look or smell of the body, which irritated Booth some more. Allison hadn't been bothered by the victim either, and it made the agent wonder if they were somehow used to this sort of thing.

He wanted nothing more than to know who they were. Booth loved a good mystery, but it was because he knew, in the end, that he'd discover the truth behind that mystery. But these two…they were beyond his experience. They could do things that people weren't supposed to be able to do. To Booth's mind, they were unnatural. They didn't belong in his orderly world.

And yet, here they were. How long had their kind existed? If he had to judge, at least by the man John's apparent age, it would seem like decades. How many were there? Just a few…or thousands? He remembered Hodgins saying that they were in hiding. He'd also called them a master race. That term just screamed negative connotations. After all, wasn't that what the Nazis called themselves?

Booth brought his attention back to what was going on in the room. John had ceased his visual examination, and had pulled that weird calculator thing out of the bag. He started at the victim's feet, and passed the device upward until he reached the head. It made several whining noises, and when it did the man would stop and check the readout on the screen. It seemed to tell him something, but he didn't say anything…or at least anything out loud.

But there would be glances between John and Allison…and something would pass between them, like wordless conversation. Booth watched them closely, and it took him a few minutes to realize they really were speaking to each other, but silently.

It was in the way they would react at times. Once Allison went over to the bag, and removed another piece of equipment without being prompted. And John nodded at nothing in particular, but Allison had reacted as if he'd answered an unspoken question. It was almost like they were performing some sort of intricate dance, and only they could hear the music or knew the steps.

Brennan was watching them closely as well, and Booth wondered if she was picking up on what he was noticing. She caught his eye, and one eyebrow went up. Booth nodded, glad that he wasn't the only one seeing this.

Suddenly the new instrument John was holding let out a squeal. Everyone in the room jumped – including Booth – and took steps forward. Allison was immediately at the bag once more, pulling out a pair of really long tweezers. She handed them to John, and he began to probe at the area.

"What have you found?" Booth wanted to know.

"Not sure yet, Agent Booth," the man answered, still probing. Allison went back to the bag, this time bringing back something like a long penlight. "Ah…" he pulled the tweezers back, bringing with them a slim object that looked like a splinter.

"I can't believe we missed that," Cam said, disgusted.

"It was embedded in the sternum," John answered absently. "You should have seen it once the skeleton was cleaned."

Allison pointed the light at the object…and it glowed a bright green. "Shit," she whispered. It'd been the first thing she'd spoken since John had arrived.

Booth just about pounced on that tiny thing. Now, this was physical, and he could use that in court. "What is it?"

"More to the point," Brennan put in, "but why is it glowing green?"

Allison snapped the light off, and the object stopped glowing. She dipped into the bag once more, bringing out a glass vial. John put the thing into the tub, and Allison stuck a stopper in the end. "We'll need to analyze it, Dr. Brennan, to answer that question." He handed the vial to Cam, who ran it out to Hodgins.

John went back to his examination. The device didn't make that obnoxious noise any more, and soon he replaced it with yet another.

That one also made sounds, and at one point Allison jerked, staring at John sharply. He didn't seem to notice the sudden attention.

Eventually, the man ceased his work, removing his sterile gloves. "That should do it," he said. "I think I have all I need."

"What did you find?" Brennan asked.

"I won't be certain until I can analyze the readings," he answered. "I'll let you know what I discover."

Brennan nodded, seemingly all right with the answer.

Booth wasn't though.

"Why can't you do your thing here?" he demanded.

John looked at him. "No offence to the facilities here, but I have more sensitive equipment back at my own lab." He put his gizmos back into the bag, clicking it shut.

The problem was, Booth didn't trust the guy to share what he discovered. There was something about those two; something that said they knew far more than they were sharing.

"Anything you find out though won't be admissible in court, since it'll be outside the chain of custody," Booth went on. "It would be best if you worked here."

John glanced at Allison. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Agent Booth, I should remind you of your promise," she said, her voice pitched low.

"Allison is right, Booth," Brennan stood beside the other woman, also adding her physical support. "Besides, I'm pretty sure we couldn't keep John here even if we tried." She turned to their guest. "I'll show you the way out."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan." John followed her, casting one last glance at Booth on his way past.

He watched them leave, frustrated. Booth felt that circumstances were spiraling out of control around him.

And these so-called Tomorrow People weren't helping.

 

* * *

 

John walked out of the Jeffersonian, accompanied by Dr. Temperance Brennan. She was silent as they went, until they arrived at the ornate front doors.

"It was nice to see you again, John," she said, standing with her arms crossed over her chest.

He smiled. "How long has it been? Three years? Four?"

"Five, actually. And it was nice that you remembered the name of the monograph."

"Well, I _was_ there, after all." It had been one of the few times since becoming a Tomorrow Person that he'd been able to relax and enjoy one of his non-saving the world passions: archaeology. "It was a very well thought out piece of work."

"I'm glad you think so. And I was also glad to have had my suspicions about you confirmed."

John raised an eyebrow. "You were suspicious of me back then?"

Dr. Brennan smiled. "I've been aware of the possibility of _Homo Superior_ for some time. As an anthropologist it's my job to extrapolate along hereditary lines and to come to conclusions about the various races of humanity."

"But what, specifically, made you think of me?" John was curious; he was usually pretty careful about using his abilities in "normal" situations.

She simply smiled, and headed back into the Jeffersonian.

Damn, that woman could be more inscrutable than Tim. John just shook his head.

Once he was out where no one could see him, he jaunted back to the Lab. Elena was waiting for him, and looking rather tense and wearing a holstered stun gun. At his look she shrugged. "I wasn't certain they would agree to let you go, once you were there."

"Do you think they could keep me if I didn't want to stay?" he was a little stung by her lack of faith in him.

"It wasn't lack of faith in _you_ , John," she answered his unspoken concern. "It was a lack of faith in _them_."

John nodded. "Well, Agent Booth was reluctant, but Dr. Brennan prevailed upon him the need to keep to the bargain." He stepped down off the jaunting pad.

"And you had a lot of faith in _her_."

He didn't miss the emphasis on that final word. "As I explained before I left, I'd met Dr. Brennan once before. She has a great deal of integrity." John put his bag down, digging out the equipment he'd used to examine that corpse. "I have readings for you, Tim."

"Very good, John," the biotronic supercomputer replied.

The elder TP set the various pieces out on Tim's scanning table. "Let us know what you find."

"Of course." The under the table lighting began to throb.

"How did Allison look?" Elena asked, putting her stun gun back on the rack.

"Tired. Perhaps I have asked too much of her…" John didn't like to second-guess himself.

"You know that's not the case, John. She can handle it."

Elena's certainty bolstered John's resolve. "You're right, of course. Talk about not having any faith…"

She chuckled. "Allison is the only one in this entire mess I _do_ have faith in, really."

"It isn't like you to be so untrusting."

"This whole incident is just too weird for my liking."

"I have to agree with you there." John had the feeling that things were spinning out of control. And he hated being out of control.

"I have some preliminary results," Tim announced.

"Go ahead please, Tim."

"Take into consideration that I am in a very early stage of analysis – "

"We understand, Tim," Elena soothed.

"Just tell us what you've found out so far," John prompted.

"There are distinct chronometric readings in the measurements you took of Paul Nguyen's body," the supercomputer said.

"Then he's come in contact with whatever's responsible for Dr. House's disappearance!" Elena exclaimed.

"That might be jumping to conclusions," John said cautiously, "but it appears to be a safe assumption." He'd believed that himself, from the reactions of the scanner.

"Can we use it to trace where Dr. House might have been taken?"

"Not at this time, Elena," Tim answered sadly. "We shall need far more energy in order to locate Greg."

"And even if we could," John added, not wanting to bring Elena down any farther but needing to be practical, "there would be no way of getting to him without help from the Time Guardians."

"John is correct, and so far my attempts to contact them have failed."

"I know, Tim," Elena sighed, bitterly disappointed. "But Allison is so worried about him, I can feel it…"

"As can I." It was like something nibbling at the back of John's mind, and he couldn't block it out. "She might be forcing it out of her conscious mind…"

"But that doesn't make it go away," she finished.

" _John…Elena…Tim…"_ came Allison's mental voice.

The two Tomorrow People took their places at the link table, touching fingers in order to strengthen the bond. _"We're here, Allison,"_ John answered.

" _Have you come up with anything?"_

" _It's too soon for much, but Tim has detected chronometric particles in the readings I took."_

" _I…suppose that makes sense, in a way. Since House was moved in time…"_ Her worry came back full force.

" _I am still analyzing,"_ Tim said. _"As soon as we know more, we shall tell you."_

" _I know. But I did want to tell you that Hodgins found out something about that metal sample you let them keep, John."_

" _You left evidence with the Saps?"_ Elena's mental voice was incredulous.

" _There was no choice,"_ John replied sharply. _"They'd seen me find it. There was no way I would be allowed to take it with me, and if I'd simply stolen it, it might have been bad for Allison. And for now, we need her there."_

" _John's right, Elena,"_ Allison said. _"He had to throw them a bone, so they'd keep cooperating."_

" _What did they find?"_

" _It's a metal alloy made primarily for the construction of earthquake-proof buildings. There isn't a manufacturer anywhere in the D.C. area. In fact, the closest one is in St. Louis, Missouri."_

" _And there are no buildings in the area built of the material?"_ John asked.

" _No, John,"_ Tim answered for her. _"Washington D.C. is not in a tectonically active area, therefore no need to construct their buildings of it."_

" _And that's what's got them puzzled,"_ Allison went on. She was sounding frustrated. _"Because, unless our killer can teleport there's no way that particular metal could be on our victim. And John, was it my imagination, or did that metal react when you scanned it?"_

" _It wasn't your imagination,"_ the elder TP confessed. _"Tim is also studying those readings, to see just what we're dealing with. But I have to say that piece of alloy must have come into contact with something extraterrestrial."_

Elena's mental snort echoed through the link. _"Just what the hell are we dealing with?"_

" _At this point, your guess is as good as mine. Allison, have they begun stripping the flesh from the body yet?"_

" _Yes, John…and it's pretty disgusting…"_

" _When they do, I want you to pay particular attention to the sternum area where the piece of metal was found. Check for any sort of marks that would indicate other damage besides the obvious penetration wound."_

" _Will do. Anything else I need to be doing?"_

" _Just be careful. Oh, and you have a friend in Dr. Brennan. I just found out she knows about us."_

Allison's silence was chock full of shock. _"Shit! How did that happen?"_

" _Is that language necessary?"_ Tim's voice was plaintive.

" _In this case…yes!"_

John sighed physically, but kept the sound out of his mental voice. _"Let's just say she has prior experience with the Tomorrow People."_

" _Okay, that explains a few things, like why she convinced Agent Booth to stop looking into my personal life…are there any more surprises I should know about?"_

" _Nothing that I can think of,"_ he answered dryly.

" _Then I should get back to them. I wonder if they'll let me go home to sleep tonight, or if I have to have a babysitter…"_ With that, Allison's voice left their minds.

"Why didn't you tell Allison that you know Dr. Brennan?" Elena asked, sliding her hands into her lap.

"I didn't think it was important."

"And if Dr. Brennan "outs" you?"

"Then I'll worry about that if it happens."

"You know, John, you like to put off things like that!"

"I don't think I'm putting anything off," he denied. "It's simply not germane to the investigation."

"I think it would make Allison feel better if she knew just how Dr. Brennan found out about us."

John was getting frustrated. "I told Allison that Dr. Brennan was on our side. What more is there?"

Elena rolled her eyes. "You just have to play things close to the vest, don't you? We can handle things, John. You don't have to hide anything." With that, she got up from the link table and headed toward the jaunting pad.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," she answered. "I want to get some rest. I think we're going to be busy tomorrow." And then she was gone.

"Tim," John said plaintively, looking up at the supercomputer's housing, "what the hell just happened?"

"Well, you do have a tendency to tell the others just what you want them to know, and hide other facts."

"So you think I should have told Allison about having met Dr. Brennan."

"I am not saying that. However, I fail to see the reason you chose not to tell her. As far as I can calculate, there is no use in keeping it a secret."

"I just didn't consider it important information."

"Apparently Elena did."

John considered. "Well, she'll get over it..."

"She always does…" Tim completed the sentence. "Does make you think why, doesn't it?"

John didn't have an answer to that.

 

* * *

 

House was left on his own _again_ , and since he was already pissed off by the high-handedness of his "hosts" he was well on his way to a volcanic explosion complete with magma _and_ pyroclastic flows.

On a Krakatoa or Santorini scale…it was that tremendously bad. His head was actually pounding with it

It would've been fine, if they'd decided to give him any sorts of answers at all. House had just enough clues to bug the shit out of him, but nothing that led to one of those "eureka!" moments that made his job worthwhile.

The moment Peter had practically admitted to knowing Tim, he'd jaunted out of the room, followed by the scientist Corley. That had led Sanye to take him back to the quarters they'd obviously assigned him, saying she'd be back as soon as she could. Then she'd jaunted as well, not looking at all happy about it.

House _knew_ she wanted to tell him everything, but was being constrained by the precious rules these people seemed to accept as Gospel. While she'd been content to break them in order to save his fertility – if not his life – it seemed that was as far as she was willing to go. He supposed he couldn't blame her, but still…she could say _something_ that might give him a little hint as to what was going on.

He finally flung himself down into one of the form-fitting chairs, propping his bad leg up on a convenient footstool. He wasn't really worried about himself, truth be known. It was the fact that none of the Tomorrow People had come for him yet.

That _Cameron_ hadn't come for him yet.

He was worried about her. House had no idea what had happened to _him_ , but it apparently wasn't the same thing that had happened to _her_. Had she been injured by that weird green laser beam thingy? Or had the FBI gotten ahold of her? House knew just how paranoid she was about being captured by the wrong people, and he could understand it. If anything were to happen to her…no, he didn't want to think that.

Instead he thought about the wreckage of his matter transporter belt, still in Corley's lab. Sanye had said the scientist would've been able to put it back together. House hoped so, because he knew Tim would be able to trace him through it. It was just surprising that he hadn't been able to do so already.

Which led House to another thought: if he'd indeed traveled in time some way – which he had the evidence of his own eyes to that little factoid – then maybe Tim wouldn't be _able_ to locate him. As far as he was aware, the Tomorrow People didn't have time travel. Hell, they might not have any clue at all as to where and when he was.

_Shit._

Well, he had to be pragmatic, didn't he? House was putting an awful lot of faith in the Tomorrow People. Just because he'd seen them do some pretty amazing things, didn't mean that would always be the case.

He almost felt like a traitor for doubting them.

House put his head back, sighing. He just wanted someone to take his temper out on at the moment.

"Dr. House."

Well, ask and ye shall receive…His head snapped up, and he was about to launch into a tirade that would've made even Foreman run and hide, and swiftly changed his mind.

Sanye was standing near the door. She looked…harried, upset maybe. But more than anything she looked determined, and it was that expression that brought House to the conclusion he was _finally_ going to get some answers.

"Well?" he prompted, putting on his best sarcastic voice.

"I am sorry," she began, stepping fully into the room. "It's just that…all of us, we're terrified at what's occurring and my fellows won't see reason about you."

"Well, I'm not exactly seeing reason about your fellows at the moment."

"I understand. Believe me, I do, because I feel the same way. A majority of them are of the opinion that we should keep you here."

"And you don't go along with that."

"Of course not! And they refuse to see what I've been trying to explain to them. They think I'm too young to comprehend the dangers, that I haven't had enough training…but from the moment I realized who you were, I knew they'd have to send you back. If they didn't…" Her words faded, and she chewed her lip almost frantically.

This girl had a secret she wanted to share, but House suspected those damned rules were getting in the way. It was like dealing with a patient who didn't want to admit they'd been sleeping around, and that was how they'd gotten that whacking great case of syphilis.

"All right."

It seemed she'd come to a conclusion. Good. House was getting tired of waiting.

"Although we have the same abilities of _Homo Superior_ , my people have long ago evolved past that. We call ourselves _Homo Sapiens Temporum_ …the Time Guardians."

House digested that. "Which of course means you can travel in time." He didn't make it a question, because the observation didn't warrant that.

Sanye nodded. "Yes. We have an innate understanding of Time itself. We can sense it, and travel in it. We protect the timelines from tampering, and fix things when they go wrong."

It suddenly hit House why these people were practically panicking. "And something's gone really wrong."

"That is correct. In fact, Time is changing even as we speak, and we cannot figure out why. The damage is…bordering on irreparable."

"That Earth I was on, wasn't supposed to happen."

"No. In matter of fact, that was the _third_ future Earth I'd observed since being sent on my mission…which was to discover what era of Time was being corrupted."

House whistled. "Sounds like someone keeps trying to get it right."

"That was my conclusion as well. Which was the main reason I decided to bring you with me: if Time had changed once more, you most likely would have been lost forever."

That idea made House shiver slightly. He wondered what would have happened if Time _had_ changed while he'd been in the middle of it…and even his sharp mind shied away from that.

"When you appeared, to me it seemed that you must have come into contact with whatever is changing Time. However, my fellow Guardians don't believe it. They feel you are a random element and have no bearing on the temporal disturbances."

"Then how the hell did I get to that future?" House asked acerbically.

"That was my very question. Peter thinks it was because of your connection with the Tomorrow People that put you in the way of whatever happened. Corley's readings seem to bear out his idea. It seems that something disrupted your matter transporter, changing it into a makeshift time machine."

"Pretty big coincidence, if you ask me. And I don't believe in coincidence."

Sanye grinned. "Neither do I. Which is why I'm telling you all this, even though I've been forbidden from doing so."

"You're such a rebel." House was impressed.

"I always have been. I understand it's a family trait." Sanye shook her head. "But you see why you have to go back? If you are somehow involved with the disruptions, then if you are kept here indefinitely, things will simply worsen."

Suddenly a large slab of wall began to waver, like watching a mirage in the desert. The metal faded out, revealing…

House thought it must have been Hyperspace, but there was something wrong. He'd seen that dimension once, while traveling through it in a space ship, and while it had been wildly colorful, like someone had used a lava lamp as the basis to create it, this _chaos_ was completely different. The colors were twisting and colliding with terrible force, annihilating large chunks of space as House watched in horror. Huge whirlpools would be created as the dimension tried to fill those suddenly empty spaces, making the chaos worse.

"Close it," he barked, not wanting to see any more.

Sanye did as he asked. "The distortion is already affecting Hyperspace, as you can see. It's making it harder and harder to move down the timelines. If you are not sent back soon, then you will be trapped here. And when the timelines finally collapse…" She left that to House's imagination.

"Well, seems to me this serial killer definitely has something to do with it," he mused, lost in thought. "He shot me with something that sent me to the future. That means he at least has access to that sort of technology."

"If there was proof of that, then the Guardians would have no choice but to act," Sanye answered firmly. "But, with everything happening with the timelines…there is simply no way to prove it beyond doubt."

"So, let's prove it." House stood up.

He limped toward the door, and it still didn't open for him. He turned to look at the Time Guardian, who was smirking. "One problem with that, Dr. House…I don't know if I shall be able to get us both back to the twenty-first century. Not with the timelines so corrupted. I should be able to make it myself…but I'm afraid you'll have to stay here, at least for the time being. If I can get the proof we need…then the other Guardians can send you back home."

House cursed. He _so_ did not want to stay there. "You're going to leave me here to put up with this shit?"

"Just remember: they _will_ have to send you home. I _do_ know that. You will get back, and hopefully soon." Sanye smiled, and jaunted from the room.

Leaving House to wonder just how she was so positive that the Time Guardians would have to send him _anywhere_.

 

* * *

 

Booth didn't bother to hide his irritation as Brennan walked off with John. Now, he knew she had as healthy a curiosity as he did – maybe moreso – and yet she was calmly letting a source of information leave…and was, in fact, escorting him away. It didn't make much sense to him at all.

He looked at Allison; she was watching Cam and Zack prepare the corpse to be de-fleshed. Booth personally thought it was disgusting, but wanted to see how their mystery woman would react.

Turned out, she didn't much like it either.

Brennan came back into the lab, alone. She hadn't been gone that long, but Booth couldn't see her not speaking to the man. He really wanted to know…

He sidled up to her. "So?" he prompted.

Brennan looked confused. "What?"

Booth's eyebrows went up. Certainly she understood what he was asking… "So…what did you think of our visitor?"

She shrugged. "John seems an intelligent and civilized person, who truly cares about what's right."

Not at all what Booth had wanted to hear. "C'mon Bones…give me your honest impression here!"

"I don't do impressions, Booth."

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean!"

"If you wanted my opinion, then I've given it. To say anything more would be pure conjecture, since I only have one meeting to go on."

"Well, you know what I think?"

"I think you're going to tell me."

"I think that guy knows more than he's telling."

Now it was Brennan's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm sure he does, Booth. Since he really didn't speak much while he was here."

"Geez, Bones…can you stop being so literal for once?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Brennan crossed her arms over her chest. "Booth, you're really not making any sense. I believe you're letting your emotions get in the way of your logic. And one of us needs to be objective about this."

"Fine. Be that way." Booth was fed up. "But you can't tell me you aren't curious!"

"Yes, I am curious. But I won't fall back on imagination to come up with answers that will most likely be wrong."

Booth threw up his hands. There was no getting around Brennan's stubborn rationalism.

She must have interpreted that as the end of the conversation – which it was – because Brennan turned to head deeper into the lab.

"Hey, I think I have something on that metal fragment," Hodgins chimed in, pulling Booth out of his funk.

"Give me some good news," he encouraged, coming to stand behind the squint.

"Well, don't know if it's good or not," Hodgins answered, as they were joined by Allison and Brennan. "This metal is an unusual alloy. According to the information I've discovered, it's only used in earthquake-resistant construction."

"That should narrow things down a bit." Booth was suddenly enthusiastic.

But Hodgins was determined to bust his balloon. "Not really. I'm checking building records now, but so far there isn't any structure in the D.C. area made of the stuff."

"What about manufacturers?" Brennan asked.

"The closest one is in St. Louis, Missouri."

_Shit._ "You're supposed to be helpful," Booth groused.

"Hey, I just find the information. It's up to you how you use it."

Booth turned to Allison. "Could our killer get around like you do?"

She looked aghast. "No. Only we can teleport."

"Are you so sure?"

"Yes." She certainly did sound certain about it. "Agent Booth, trust me when I say: if this killer could teleport, he wouldn't be a killer."

"And why is that?" he challenged.

Allison looked torn. She glanced at Hodgins, who nodded encouragingly. Then she looked at Brennan…who simply shrugged, as if she didn't care.

What was up with that?

The woman sighed. "All right…the reason I'm so sure is because my people cannot kill. And I don't mean we're pacifists by choice…I mean we literally _cannot_ kill. We're genetically coded against it."

Booth didn't know quite how to react to that. "You mean, even if the only way to defend yourself is by killing – "

"Then I'd die. It's that simple."

"That…" He couldn't answer, he was too surprised. No wonder these guys were in hiding.

"So you see," Allison finished, "it can't be one us."

"Personally," Hodgins chimed in, "I love the idea. I mean, can you see what a force for peace you could be?"

"I just wish other people saw it that way, Jack," Allison answered, sounding disappointed. "It would make things much easier on us."

Booth shook his head. This woman was full of surprises. "Well, at least you can disappear if you need to."

Allison grinned. "I _do_ have ways of defending myself…non-lethal ways."

He was sure of that…"Is there anything else you might feel up to sharing?"

"Not at the moment, no."

She was so damned frustrating…

It made Booth even more determined to know all he could about her. The problem was, he really didn't know how to go about it. Everything he'd tried had failed. It was as if she didn't exist…and yet, she had to, since she was standing next to him looking decidedly smug.

Okay, he did get the whole "needing to remain hidden" thing. But his curiosity wouldn't let it lie. Apparently Hodgins knew more than he was saying, however Booth was used to that. The squint's knowledge of some of the weirder conspiracy theories was unrivaled. It was freaky that one of those theories was coming true and that Booth was a witness…

Allison was looking at him closely. At his glance, she said, "I know you're curious, Agent Booth."

Was she reading his mind or something?

"No, I'm not reading your mind," she answered. "That would be unethical. No, it's just written all over your face."

"Well, that's all right then." He put all the sarcasm he could in his voice.

She looked torn, chewing her lip in thought. "Agent Booth, you have to understand something. We don't really trust a lot of people, especially those with ties to government agencies. We've been on the receiving end of way too much attention for that…and some of us have died because the wrong person got ahold of information on us. So me not being completely honest with you over certain things is something that's literally been trained into me. It's nothing at all personal."

Wow, for Allison this was a speech. "Yeah, well…pardon me if I take it that way."

"You can trust Booth, Allison," Hodgins vouched. "He's one of the good guys."

"Hodgins is right," Brennan added her two cents. "Booth has a strong sense of what is right, and won't compromise you."

"They're right." Angela joined the crowd.

Booth felt himself embarrassed by all the praise. "Although why you should believe them I don't know."

Allison rolled her eyes. "I think you're all just ganging up on me because each one of you wants to know."

"And your point is?" Hodgins asked, grinning.

"Apparently I don't have one." Allison sighed.

"Sure you do," Angela teased. "It's right at the top of your head."

That caused the woman to snort. "All right. I'll tell you some, but not all. I won't compromise anyone else and I certainly won't tell you who I really am. That really isn't important anyway."

Booth smiled. Finally, he was going to get some answers…

"I'm what you'd call _Homo Superior_ …but we call ourselves the Tomorrow People. We're the next stage in human evolution."

"And here I thought you were going to say you were a little green woman from Mars," Booth quipped, secretly impressed. When Hodgins had used the term "higher evolutionary," he'd thought the squint had been blowing it all out of proportion.

"Sorry, but Martians aren't little," she returned, one side of her mouth up in a teasing grin.

"Wait…there _are_ Martians?" Hodgins about squeaked.

"No, Jack…there aren't Martians," Allison laughed. "Or at least if there are, I've never met one."

"Glad to hear that," Booth said. "Because if you're gonna start going on about Martians and aliens and stuff, I would have to call the men in the nice white coats."

Allison smirked, which led Booth to believe there was more than she was telling on the subject of extraterrestrials. He recalled Hodgins mentioning something about an alien invasion, and a shiver went down the agent's spine. No freaking _way_ …

The woman opened her mouth to continue, but instead she froze. Then she closed her eyes, sighing, her hand going to the back of Hodgins' chair looking as if she was trying to prop herself up.

Booth was immediately alarmed; so were apparently everyone else in their small group, because Angela put her hand on Allison's elbow to steady her and Hodgins got out of his chair so she could sit. "I'm all right," she answered, taking the offered seat. "I just…got some very good news. A…friend of mine went missing, and John just told me that he's fine. I've been worried about him…"

Somehow Booth doubted this person was just a friend; there was something in Allison's relieved expression that just screamed a deeper attachment. Then he realized…she'd been here, helping them, when she must have wanted to go and try to find whoever it was who'd been missing. He felt guilty for keeping her from searching…but then, she hadn't actually said anything about it, had she? And would Booth have really let her leave, if he'd known?

Well, he hoped he'd be the kind of man who had compassion toward others…but he honestly couldn't answer that question. Catching the Incinerator Killer was important, and to Booth not a lot mattered beyond that right now. Letting one of his "resources" up and leave…

But just as suddenly as Allison had gotten good news, it seemed like she was getting bad. She stiffened in the chair, her face paling. "Jeremy…" was all she said.

"What about Jeremy?" Booth demanded. This had just confirmed the suspicion he'd had, that the boy was one of Allison's gang.

Allison stood up, nearly bumping the agent in the chin as she did. "Jeremy says the Killer is there."

"That's impossible!" There was no way in Hell that maniac could've found the safe house…

The woman didn't answer; instead, she held out her hands, palm up. Instantly three of the strange belts appeared; two had odd discs on them. She handed one to Booth, and one to Brennan, keeping the third plain one for herself. "Put these on. John will meet us at the safe house."

Booth did as she asked, suddenly very afraid for the kid. If the killer got him this time, chances were they wouldn't be able to save him.

"Jaunt us to the safe house, Tim," Allison aloud.

_Who the hell was Tim?_ was all the time Booth had for thought, before the Jeffersonian faded out around him…

And the bland furnishings of an FBI safe house appeared around him.

"Shit!" he swore, reaching for the nearest chair for support. He glanced at Brennan; Bones actually looked excited. Sure, trust her to enjoy something like that…

"Jeremy and his mother are back at the Lab," came the British-accented voice of the man called John. Booth turned; he was standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms. He entered the room, followed by two women: one with curly dark hair and smiling features; the other with auburn hair and dressed like something out of a science fiction movie. "They'll be safe there."

Booth wanted to ask where this Lab place was, but figured he didn't have time. "Where's the killer?" he barked.

"Outside somewhere," the man answered. "Jeremy reported hearing shouts from the guards on duty, then a bright flash of green light."

Yes, there'd been that weird green beam back at the warehouse…

John passed Allison one of those weird metal guns; he himself had one in a holster at his waist. His companions were similarly armed.

"We need to get these lights off, we're sitting targets if the killer tries to enter," the agent replied.

"I'll take care of it." With a wave of her hand, Allison extinguished every lamp in the house.

"Now, that's nice."

"Thank you, Agent Booth."

There was a sudden loud thump from outside. Booth headed toward one of the windows, drawing his own weapon. He pulled the curtains aside, but all he could see were shadows…

And then the dead face of one of the FBI agents on duty slammed into the window, nearly shattering the glass.

Booth recoiled. He'd known the guy; Harrison had been a good man, and to have been murdered by the very maniac they'd been trying to catch…it pissed him off. If he hadn't wanted to catch the killer before…

"We need to cover both the front and the back, " he murmured. "Everyone, stay alert."

He could hear John softly issuing commands behind him; apparently his friends' names were Elena and Sanye. "Just what can those fancy guns of yours do?" he asked.

"They're stun guns," Allison answered, coming to stand beside Booth.

"Well, you said you could defend yourselves…"

"Will the killer still come? Since he must know we're in here…"

"Don't know," Booth confessed, his eyes still scanning the darkness outside.

There was another sudden noise, this time from the back of the house. "John says someone just tried to break down the back door. He has it secured."

"Good. If we can get this guy to come inside – "

Booth was interrupted by a shout from Brennan. "Booth!"

The agent spun…

There was a tall, black form in the middle of the living room. It wore a long, duster-like coat and boots, and a hood obscured its face. A spacey-type gun was in one hand, and it was pointing at Booth and Allison.

 

* * *

 

It was barely five minutes after Elena stormed out that the jaunting pad started acting strange. The base began to strobe wildly, and a screeching hum filled the air of the Lab.

"Tim?" John called out over the ear-splitting noise. "What the hell is going on?"

"An outside force has usurped control of the jaunting controls," the biotronic supercomputer answered. "There is a build-up of chronometric energy in the area around the pad."

Chronometric energy? Despite the pain piercing his ears, John smiled.

A shape was beginning to fade into view on the jaunting pad. As it coalesced into being, John saw it was a young woman, appearing to be in her mid-teens, with long auburn brown hair and wearing a flowing blue dress. Her body seemed to suddenly wink out of existence, and then she was back, fully corporeal.

The noise died, and the girl took a step off the jaunting pad. She looked a little tired, and somewhat pale. "Hello," she replied, smiling. "I am Sanye, an acolyte Guardian."

"I'm John," the elder Tomorrow Person answered, bowing slightly. "Welcome to the twenty-first century."

"I wish I could say this was a pleasure trip, but there are things happening to Time that I believe can be tracked directly to this era."

That would explain her apparent tiredness, John reflected. If she'd had trouble traveling… "How can we help you?" He motioned her to a seat at the link table.

"First of all," Sanye said, taking the offered seat, "I should inform you that Dr. House is safe."

John sighed. "Thank you. If you don't mind, I should inform the others. We've been very concerned about him."

Sanye nodded. "I'm glad I could bring you at least that good news."

That sounded ominous, but John knew that the Guardian would explain. He placed his hands flat on the link table. _"Allison…Elena…"_

" _Yes, John?"_ Both women answered in unison.

" _I've just received news about Greg…he's all right."_

The relief that flowed through the part of the link with Allison almost swamped their connection. _"Thank God. How did you find out?"_

" _I have a Time Guardian here in the Lab now. She told me."_

" _Then did Dr. House travel in time…"_ Elena mused.

_"Apparently so. I don't have all the details as yet – "_

" _Tim? Allison?"_

" _Jeremy?"_ Allison answered. _"What's wrong?"_

Such a strong sense of terror flowed through the link that John's own body reacted and he had to restrain himself from getting up from the table. _"He's here! He's outside the house – "_

" _The Killer?"_ Allison demanded.

" _Yeah!"_ The boy's mental voice was shaking. _"I heard screaming, then there was a green flash of light…you gotta help us!"_

" _Jeremy, it's John. I'm having Tim send you and your mother two belts. You need to put them on. We're bringing you both here."_

" _The belts are on the way, John."_

" _As soon as Jeremy and his mother are here, we're jaunting to the house._ _Please send a replacement belt to Allison, as well as matter transporter belts for Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan."_

" _Acknowledged."_

" _I'm on my way to the Lab, John,"_ Elena responded.

" _Good."_ John stood up, and fetched several stun guns.

Sanye looked worried. "This is the Incinerator Killer that Dr. House mentioned?"

"Yes, it is."

"Then I should go with you. I suspect this person has something to do with the severe time disturbance we've been monitoring. It is bad enough that travel between eras is becoming nearly impossible."

John handed her one of the guns. "Then perhaps you can help."

Elena jaunted into the Lab. Only a second later, Jeremy and his mother appeared, looking scared.

"Tim, see to Jeremy and Mrs. Sanders," John ordered, handing another gun to Elena.

"I will, John," came the artificial intelligence's voice from the ceiling.

Jeremy looked up, seeing the housing. "That's Tim?" The boy suddenly seemed to shake off his fear. "Dang!"

"You'll both be safe here," John addressed Mrs. Sanders. "Tim will look after you."

The woman nodded. "Not that I understand a thing about what's going on…"

"Tim can explain. We need to go, now." John stepped onto the jaunting pad, followed by Elena and Sanye.

They arrived just before Allison and the others. John moved to greet them…and things went to hell from there.

John sent Elena and Sanye back to each of the house's bedrooms, while he took the kitchen and the back door. Just as he took up position, the door shuddered, threatening to collapse inward…

He put his own telekinetic power against the force outside, keeping the door from giving way. _"Our friend outside just tried to break down the back door,"_ he reported to Allison. _"I have it secured."_

" _I've told Agent Booth. If we can – "_

Allison's voice was interrupted but a shout from Dr. Brennan. "Booth!"

John spun, at the combined cry and the sudden alarm in Allison's emotions. He ran down the short hallway, just in time to see Allison, Booth, and Dr. Brennan all pointing weapons at a black-clad figure standing in the center of the living room.

A pair of stun blasts struck the person…and didn't seem to have any effect at all.

" _Elena! Sanye!"_ John called for reinforcements, his own stun gun out and ready.

" _Right beside you,"_ came Elena's comforting voice.

The three of them took their turns, firing at the man they called the Incinerator Killer. But their guns were just as ineffective.

" _He's immune to our weapons!"_ Elena cried incredulously.

The black figure spun to look at the three in the hallway. John tried to look at the man's face, but for some reason it was obscured. _"I don't think he's human – "_ he managed to say before a loud bang echoed through the house.

Agent Booth had fired his own gun. And it was the deadly kind.

It seemed to affect the Killer; he turned again, lurching slightly. Booth fired twice more, knocking the being back a couple of steps.

But the bullets didn't stop him.

There was a high-pitched wheezing from their antagonist, and suddenly he was gone.

All of them stood there, staring at the place where the Incinerator Killer had been standing.

There was no sign of blood anywhere.

Booth was the first to find his voice. "I thought you said only your lot could teleport!" he said accusingly, facing Allison.

"It wasn't jaunting," Allison averred, meeting the FBI agent's gaze squarely.

"Allison is right," John came to her defense. "I would think this was done using some sort of technology."

"And I could definitely sense chronometric energy around him," Sanye added. "He's done some traveling…and it also had to be done mechanically."

Booth holstered his gun, looking very frustrated. "So now what?" he demanded. "You think you can track him if he's using some sort of device to get around?"

John nodded. "It's possible. I'll need to bring my equipment from the Lab – "

He was interrupted by the sudden sense of distress he began to receive. He looked at his companions, and noticed that it was coming from Sanye.

The acolyte Guardian had her hand to her head, her eyes screwed together in pain. Waves of confusion – then fear – tumbled into John's consciousness like boulders down a mountain. "What is it?" he asked her, as he and the other Tomorrow People gathered around their guest.

"What the hell is going on?" Booth asked. He and Dr. Brennan joined them.

"Something is…wrong," Sanye answered in a whisper. "Time is…in agony…" She gasped, and would have fallen to the floor had John not caught her elbow to steady her.

"Has something happened to change it?" he asked, wishing he'd been able to get more information from her before all this had happened.

"Not yet…but it's close…" the young Guardian threw her head back, crying out in terror. "It's like a tidal wave, destroying everything as it rolls in…I need to get away…" She tried to stagger away, but didn't get very far.

"What's going on?" Dr. Brennan asked worriedly.

John was about to explain, when Sanye's perceptions overwhelmed her…and by extension, the Tomorrow People, although not nearly so bad. It still sent John to the floor, clutching his head and trying to block Sanye's sending.

But it was too late…

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere…_

It was wounded. The weapon that the human male had used had damaged it. It had been prepared for the weak weapons of the enemies, but not for the primitive projectiles.

And so it sulked – if it could be said to have that emotion within the nature of its programming – and waited for its master to heal him.

It didn't have long to wait.

"You have failed."

The cold, accusatory tone roused it from the pain-filled trance it had fallen into. It stood up straight, bowing in acknowledgement.

"However, you could not have expected the resistance you met."

It was forgiveness of a sort, and it accepted it as such.

"I have been attempting to determine the reason for such determined resistance, and have discovered a single lynchpin that will undo everything that stands in our way. However, it will require a retroactive response."

If it had been programmed for it, it would have frowned. Such actions had been prohibited until now, and it could not see where such a step would be justified within the boundaries of the mission.

"You doubt me."

The voice sounded disappointed, and it hated itself for causing its Master such pain.

"I have searched along all of the pertinent time lines, and this is the best way to break our enemies' defenses. Once that has happened, our mission may proceed unhindered."

It bowed its understanding.

"Come. I shall repair the damage done to you, my friend. Then I shall send you on your way."

 

* * *

 

It stood among the trees on the street corner, patiently awaiting its next victim.

There was a sudden slam, and a boy came running out of the house just beyond its hiding place. The child was twelve years old, and he ignored the strident calling of his mother, demanding that he come back into the house that instant.

The boy kept on moving, although he slowed down once he reached the sidewalk. He turned, stomping toward where it stood, waiting.

It wouldn't be long now.

As the boy drew even with the trees, it snaked out both arms: one to grab the child around the mouth to keep him from shouting; the other was holding a plain yet sharp knife, which it fluidly slid around the child's throat, nearly severing his head from the rest of his body.

As the body dropped to the ground, _time changed_ …

 

* * *

 

Dr. Allison Cameron leaned over the microscope, the clear faceplate of her clean-suit bumping the eyepieces. She sighed, readjusted herself, and went to look at the slide once more.

"Allison!"

The hiss got her attention, and she stifled a sigh. Allison glanced over at her research partner; Dr. Rhonda Echevarria was grinning, and she jerked her head in the direction of the clear monitor window. "He's here!"

She couldn't help it; Allison glanced in the direction Rhonda indicated. She smiled as she caught the vibrant green eyes of Alexander MacLean, the CEO of BioMedical Research Laboratories.

Alex smiled back at her, waving slightly. Allison nodded; she knew he wouldn't really be able to see her smile through the faceplate. He was tall, with black hair styled impeccably and wearing a dark blue suit. A deep green tie matched his eyes.

Just seeing him there made Allison's heart jump.

Then Alex held up his phone, and Allison understood that he wanted her to call him when she was done with her work. She nodded again, and he smiled wider, then left.

"Damn, girlfriend," Rhonda said, her voice clear in the clean-suit's headset, "you are one lucky _chica_. Snagging a guy who's not only good looking but a millionaire to boot…"

"I didn't snag him," Allison answered, going back to her slides. "He snagged me."

"Pretty much the same thing, you ask me," her friend replied, turned back to the computer she'd been working at.

Maybe Rhonda was right, she thought as she started running the slides. She'd known Alex for two years now; been engaged to him for six months. He was absolutely amazing: intelligent, funny, generous, a marvelous lover…okay, and his being wealthy was nice, too. But she didn't love him for his money. Alex could've worked at the local Starbucks for all Allison cared. She felt as if she'd finally found her soulmate.

She didn't think she'd ever been happier.

After that, the day seemed to drag. Allison took a lot of pride in her work; they were doing serious research into cures for AIDS, and it was fulfilling to be making any sort of difference. BRL was on the cutting edge of medical technology; Allison had been hired almost immediately out of medical school, and had made her mark almost at once.

And then she'd met Alex.

It was like her life was on a strange and wonderful path after that meeting. Alex had literally swept her off her feet, and she'd been in love with him almost from the very beginning. Yes, she'd gotten the inevitable "sleeping with the boss to get ahead" comments, but those who mattered knew her work was impeccable. She hadn't needed any help from Alex to get ahead in the company.

Eventually, it was time to leave. Rhonda wished her goodnight; she and the Mexican-American woman were best friends. They'd been nearly inseparable since they'd been partnered together a year ago. Rhonda knew more about Allison's relationship with Alex than Allison had ever confessed, but Rhonda was just that smart. And what was even better, was that her friend was behind her one hundred percent.

"See you tomorrow," Rhonda said, as they were leaving the building. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Allison laughed. "There isn't a lot you _won't_ do, Rhonda." She buried her hands in her coat pockets, trying to keep them warm. Despite being inside the parking garage, it wasn't heated; and it was winter outside.

"True…" With that, Rhonda headed toward her car, turning to wave as she left.

Allison did the same. Her own car was down on the opposite side, and along the outer wall; a late model Ford Taurus, which Alex had tried to convince her to let him replace, saying it wasn't _her_. But Allison was stubborn, pointing out that if she showed up with a fancy new car the rumors would _really_ start then. And the last thing she wanted was for people to think she was selling herself. She wasn't sure if Alex understood, but he'd stopped pestering her about it.

She unlocked the door, sliding inside the cold interior. Allison shivered suddenly, but it wasn't from the freezing air in the car; she had a strange feeling, as if someone had walked over her grave…

It wouldn't shrug off easily, so Allison ignored the crawling sensation down her spine and stuck her key in the ignition. She was just going to switch the car on…

"Allison Cameron."

The voice made her jump, her heart racing a mile a minute. Allison spun in her seat at the sound, knowing that she was alone in the vehicle and that there was no way anyone could have gotten in without her noticing.

The man in the passenger seat was proof against that certainty.

He was an older man, perhaps in his forties, with unruly graying hair and a days' worth of stubble. Intense blue eyes were regarding her closely, as if they were trying to see into her soul. He was wearing a jacket over a plaid shirt, and in turn that shirt was partially covering up a Rolling Stones t-shirt. Jeans completed the bohemian ensemble. A cane was nestled between his knees, and his long-fingered hands were twirling it absently.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded. She wanted to grab her cell, but it was in her purse…which was currently on the floorboard next to the stranger's knee. She settled for reaching toward the door handle.

"Now, that's an interesting question," he answered, his voice decidedly sarcastic. "I don't really go into all that existentialism shit myself – "

Allison had ahold of the handle, and was pulling up on it, when something the weirdo said to her kept her in the car…

"I know what you are."

She froze. Then she turned back to the intruder, staring him down angrily. "Well, apparently you do, since you're sitting in my car – "

"No, Cam – Allison, I know _what_ you are."

The stumbling over her name barely registered. Allison let her eyes narrow in anger, even as her heart began racing again. "I don't know what you mean."

The man rolled his eyes. "God, you're paranoid," he groused. "Look, I know all about the Tomorrow People, so there's no need to deny it."

Allison's heart stopped, then started once more as the shock of hearing that title rolled over her. "Okay," she said slowly, as if she was facing a wild animal, "you're obviously under some sort of misapprehension…"

"I just knew you were gonna make me prove it." He sighed. "I'm going to reach into my pocket for something. It's not a weapon so don't jaunt away, all right?" He proceeded to do so, moving slowly.

She watched him closely, not trusting him an inch. But he'd known about jaunting…no one outside the Tomorrow People really called it that, unless they'd had some sort of first-hand knowledge of how they all referred to teleportation. Maybe he did know something…

The stranger completed the maneuver, holding his hand out to her. On the palm sat a small disc, about the size of a quarter, and it shimmered as if it partially existed on another plane…

Allison recognized it immediately. "Why didn't you say you were a Time Guardian?" she asked accusingly. "You could've saved me a coronary!"

"Well, that's just it," he answered, putting the disc back into his pocket. "I'm not."

"Then…how'd you get ahold of that time disc?"

"That's a long story…look, can we go somewhere warmer? It's fucking freezing out here. Where is here, anyway?"

"You don't know where you are?" Allison started the car, to let it warm up a bit.

"I wouldn't have asked if I did."

"This is Chicago."

"No wonder my nuts feel like two ice cubes."

Allison snorted. "It's not my fault you didn't research where you were going."

"I'm not the one who did the actual checking. I just said I wanted to go where you were."

"You're going to have to explain a lot more before I take you anywhere." Allison decided it was best to put her foot down, before this went out of control any farther.

"At least put the heater on."

"When the car is warm enough, I will."

"Fine." His tone said different. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a petulant child.

When he didn't say anything for about a minute, Allison grew irritated. "Well? You know who and what I am…so who and what are you?"

It was suddenly as if the man was deflated. He slumped down in his seat, his hands going back to the cane. "You…can call me Greg. And I'm a paradox."

Well, _that_ was suitably mysterious. "And what's that supposed to mean, _Greg_?" She accented his name just enough to get across the message that she wasn't happy with his answer.

He turned to look at her, and suddenly her anger was gone. There was something in those blue eyes…as if he were missing a part of himself.

Then it was replaced by an expression of fury, the blue going ice cold. But Allison guessed it wasn't directed at her, and when he answered that bore her impression out.

"I'm a time paradox," he spelled it out to her. "I died when I was a kid…and yet, I'm alive now. Go figure."

Allison actually whistled. "That must be driving the Time Guardians nuts."

Greg shrugged. "Not as much as you might think. They've got enough on their plates at the moment."

That sounded ominous. "But why me? I haven't been a Tomorrow Person in years, not since…" Allison didn't want to say the reason.

But apparently Greg knew it. "You mean, since John died?"

Allison started. "You…know about that?" She'd felt John die, and it had been the one thing to trigger all the buried memories of her childhood with the Tomorrow People.

"I should. That's another part of the paradox, since in my timeline I helped save his life after the explosion."

"But…" This was surreal. John had died in the hospital, after a botched diagnosis… "You're saying…John shouldn't have died?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. When I…died…a lot of things got majorly screwed up. Which is why I'm here."

"You didn't answer my question…why me? Why come to me about this? Why not to one of the senior Tomorrow People?"

"Because…" He stopped looking at her, turning instead out to stare at the interior of the parking garage. "Because you were involved in the events that led up to my dying."

"How could I…shit, I hate time travel…"

"How do you think I feel?" came a rather snarky reply.

Honestly, Allison couldn't imagine it. "All right. Why don't you start from the beginning?"

"Can you _please_ turn the heater on first? My testicles have gone from ice cubes to icebergs."

She snorted, reaching over and snapping on the heat. The car started getting warmer immediately. "Okay, better now?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Now can I get the complete explanation?"

Greg opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Allison's cell phone ringing.

It made her jump. Allison reached toward her purse, realizing she was going to have to feel around her "guest's" leg, and just decided to go for it. She dragged her purse up, dug out her cell and checked the caller ID. "I need to take this, it's my fiancé Alex."

As she flipped the phone open, Allison couldn't help but notice Greg's expression: his eyes went sad, before they dropped down to watch his hands resting on the grip of his cane.

"Hey there," came Alex's deep voice. "Where are you?"

"Hi," she answered, confused by Greg's reaction. "I'm still at work."

"What on Earth for?"

"Well, it's cold and I wanted to warm my car up…" She wasn't about to tell Alex that she had a strange temporal paradox in her passenger seat…he didn't even know about her special abilities.

"Oh." Alex was quiet for a second. "I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tonight."

"I'd love to." Then she glanced at her companion; he was twiddling with his cane almost incessantly. "But I'm really kinda tired. Can I take a raincheck?"

"Absolutely." Alex sounded disappointed though. "Oh, don't forget we have tickets for "Spamalot" for this weekend."

"I won't." She'd been looking forward to seeing the play for months. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Allison."

"I love you too, Alex." With that, she snapped the phone closed. "Sorry about that."

"No problem." Greg's voice was almost completely toneless. "Let's get out of here, and I'll explain everything,"

Allison didn't answer. Instead, she pulled the car out of its spot, heading out of the garage and toward her apartment.

Her mysterious passenger was quiet the entire trip.

 

* * *

 

House walked into Allison Cameron's apartment, and was once again struck with how _different_ everything in this new reality was.

Take this version of her place: it was large and airy, with plants all over and a gray tabby cat to greet them as they came in. Everything in the place looked almost new, as if this version of Cameron had just recently purchased a lot of stuff. Well, maybe she had.

As for this Cameron: well, House had been shocked to see the blonde hair. He didn't like it one bit, it made her look more mature and a little bit washed out. No, he wanted his brunette Cameron back.

Hell, he wanted his freaking _life_ back.

But that had vanished the moment the time-quake had hit the Guardians' base.

"Nice," he complimented, lying through his teeth.

"Thanks," Cameron – no, this was Allison. She wasn't _his_ Cameron, and he couldn't call her that even in his mind. "But you didn't come all this way to compliment my apartment."

"Down to business. Good." Well, that part of her hadn't changed that much. "I came because I need your help."

"To change history?" She curled up on the couch, and the cat leaped up into her lap.

House took the overstuffed chair, in order to face her. "No. We can't do that; time is too fucked up for that now."

Allison cocked her head. "Then what?"

"Have you heard on the news about the Incinerator Killer?"

"Who hasn't? The maniac's murdered dozens of…you're not serious! We are _not_ going after the Incinerator Killer!" The shock in her voice matched the expression on her face.

"That's what we were doing when time got screwed, actually."

"But why? It's a Sap problem, it doesn't affect the Tomorrow People!"

House looked at her closely. Apparently this Allison Cameron hadn't felt the kidnapping of Jeremy Sanders. Which meant one of two things: the killer struck earlier than in the previous time line, thus keeping Jeremy from beginning to break out; or because she wasn't involved with the Tomorrow People here, in this universe, she hadn't been open to the boy's painful sending. Damn.

"Shit, you Tomorrow People are so high-and-mighty," he snapped. "You just can't get involved in the lowly Sap happenings, don't want to sully your superior hands – "

"That's unfair!" Allison answered angrily. "We can't get involved with everything, that would stretch us too thin and risk us getting found out!"

"'Us'? You're not even involved with your own people, let alone the outside, normal world!" House hadn't meant to get into an argument with her. But he was so freaked out by the discovery of his own death, and what that death had done.

"It's none of your business what I do," she said harshly. "You don't know me."

"You're right. I don't. I know the _other_ Allison Cameron…and you're not her."

Allison flinched visibly. "What do you want from me?"

What had House wanted? Really? To see her, to find out what had happened to her when he hadn't been around to hire her? According to what Peter had been able to discover, this Allison's life had pretty much followed the same path, up until her being hired into PPTH…which didn't happen, because House hadn't been around to hire her. After that, Allison's life had taken a path that apparently now included a fiancé.

"I want your help," he answered simply, getting his temper under some semblance of control.

This Allison took a deep breath, absently stroking her cat. "Okay. Sorry about that. Go on with your story."

"Thanks for your permission," he snarked unconsciously.

She rolled her eyes in a patented Allison Cameron expression. "You're welcome." The sarcasm dripped from those two words like acid.

House looked at her closely. "Somehow what the Incinerator Killer is doing, is affecting time. Unfortunately, I don't know what, since I ended up on the Time Guardians' home base somehow while most of the investigation was going on."

Allison nodded. "Yes, I can see why the TP would get involved then, if there were time disruptions. Were they working with a Guardian?"

"For…a little while, yes." That was something else that disturbed House: after the time-quake, Peter had completely forgotten who Sanye was. It was as if she'd never existed. "But she apparently vanished."

"Must have gotten caught up in the changes your death caused." Allison was looking pensive now, her anger completely gone. "So…who killed you then? And why was your death so important?"

"Peter – he's the Time Guardian I dealt with – was certain the Incinerator Killer did it, by traveling back in time. If this maniac is mucking about with the timelines, that would make the most sense."

He began twiddling his cane between his fingers absently. "As for why…I can count half a dozen things that are different right now, and that's not even trying to. Just John's death alone screwed up a ton of shit."

Allison's eyes turned sad. House knew just how close Cameron and John had been; this Allison had to have felt the same way, up until the fall-out that had led to her disavowal of her heritage. And with John's death, she'd never gotten the chance to make up with the elder Tomorrow Person.

"We have to stop this killer, because if we don't time is going to get more and more out of whack, until it simply collapses."

"But why is he doing this?" Allison asked softly.

House shrugged. "No clue, although I'm sure he thinks he has a good one. And with me out of the way, he's had a free hand. It's taken you and John out of the picture completely."

"I can see John being important, but why me? What was I doing that made my presence so vital?"

This was where it would get tricky. "I…don't know," House confessed. "As I said, I wasn't around a lot after getting kicked into the future. But…Peter said you'd been important, and I have to take his word for it. I do know you were involved up until my own disappearance." He was lying, of course, about what the Time Guardian had said. He'd practically begged Peter to send him to Allison, thinking he could work with her to get this mystery figured out.

"I see." She was chewing her lip in thought. "Were we…working together in some way?"

"Yep. We were together when I got hit with whatever sent me out of time."

"How…did we know each other?"

House considered, then answered. "We were…friends. Colleagues. We worked at the same hospital."

"And that's what you meant when you were involved in saving John's life."

House didn't think that needed an answer, so stayed silent.

"I take it that the timelines are so corrupted that the Guardians can't get involved overtly."

"Pretty much. Once we catch this guy, and stop the disruptions, things should settle down a little bit…maybe enough for the Guardians to make the changes needed to fix everything."

He watched as the truth dawned on her. "But, if time was changed back…I wouldn't be who I am. Who would I be?" Allison looked at him beseechingly.

Damn, now how does he answer that one? "The only things that would change would be from the time we met. Everything else would stay the same."

"But what about Alex?" The pain in her voice was palpable.

House felt sorry for her, but at the same time he was selfish and wanted his own Allison Cameron returned. "You meet him anyway," he chose to lie once more. "Just not in the same way. He's…on the Board at our hospital."

The relief in her made Allison practically glow. "Thank God. Maybe I'm being selfish but I don't want to lose him." One side of her mouth quirked upward in a happy grin. "He's like my soulmate, you know? I just don't want to be without him in my life."

"I wouldn't worry about it." House was feeling a positive heel for using her, which was unusual for him. But he _needed_ to get his Cameron back. And he'd do anything to make that happen.

"Thanks for that." She gave a full-blown smile. "So, you have a plan, or are we making this up as we go along?"

"Actually, I think a visit to Tim is in order."

 

* * *

 

The Lab hadn't much changed, House noted as he materialized on the jaunting pad. There was a somewhat disused feeling about the place, and he took that to mean that John wasn't around to look after everything.

"Hello, Allison," the supercomputer's calm voice echoed through the room. There was something off about it; he seemed melancholy, and that also had to be because of John's loss as well. "Welcome back to the Lab."

"Thank you, Tim." She walked beside House, down into the main area of the Lab. "I'm sorry to have been gone so long."

"That is fine. Although it seems that a mystery has brought you back."

"Yes. What do you have on the Incinerator Killer, Tim?"

"I have done some checking, and have discovered some interesting things about the person dubbed by the press as the Incinerator Killer." Tim proceeded to fill them in on what he'd found in the FBI files.

As House had suspected, Jeremy Sanders had indeed been a victim of this time traveling maniac. But he was surprised when his own name came up as the Killer's first victim.

Allison glanced at him, perhaps sensing his shock. House looked at her, shrugging. If she put the name Gregory House together with the gimpy guy standing next to her at that moment, then good for her. It would add credibility to his story.

"But that would mean this Killer has been around for over thirty years!" she did exclaim, as Tim gave the date of the "Gregory House" murder.

House shrugged, finally deciding to take the pressure off his bad leg and sitting down at the link table. "Time travel…what can I say?"

"This gentleman is correct, Allison. Although a thirty-six year break certainly does have the Sap authorities puzzled."

It bothered House more than he could say that Tim was treated him like a total stranger…which he was, in this reality. Their late-night chats and chess games had never happened at all. House had lost on of his very few friends when that bastard had gone back and murdered him.

And he intended for the man to pay for it, and for the loss of his Cameron.

"Who's the agent in charge of the case?" House asked.

"A Special Agent Seeley Booth," Tim answered.

Well, at least that hadn't changed. "Yeah, he was on the case in my reality too. Well, there's nothing for it: we need to talk to Special Agent Seeley Booth."

Allison's mouth dropped open. "Are you freaking nuts?"

"Allison…language, please."

She ignored Tim completely. "We can't expose ourselves to the FBI! That's just asking for us to get captured and experimented on!"

"I'm not saying we need to give up all our secrets," House answered sarcastically. "But surely Tim's equipment would be a help in finding out who this bas – maniac is? And would the Saps even be prepared to face a time traveler with advanced technology? C'mon, you can't stick your head in the sand over this!"

"Allison," Tim cut in, in his polite way, "I am afraid Greg here is correct in this, as well. The Saps would be unable to cope with this sort of threat. Plus, we cannot allow such technology to fall into the wrong hands."

"What about the other Tomorrow People?" Allison asked hectically.

"No one is currently on Earth. When John died…the others left, one after the other."

House was aghast. "What about any potential break-outs? Who'd be around to help them?"

"I would have called on Allison, if need be. However, there have been no break-outs in three point two one years."

"What?" That seemed impossible. "No break-outs at all?"

"None."

"Why not?"

"I have no idea. I can only say that there has been none."

Allison seemed as surprised as House was. "But…Tim, there had to have been! Evolution just doesn't stop like that."

"I understand your confusion, Allison. I have also felt the same confusion. But break-outs seemed to have completely ceased."

House felt the mental wheels turning. "Well, time is completely screwed. Maybe that's affected the break-out rate."

"That is entirely possible," the artificial intelligence mused. "I shall have to run simulations to discover if the time disruptions could have had an impact."

"I'll tell you this much: the boy, Jeremy Sanders…his kidnapping precipitated his break-out."

"Jeremy Sanders was a potential TP?" Allison sank down into the chair opposite House, as if the shocks had become too much for her.

"If that had happened, Greg," Tim answered, "I would have sensed his break-out."

"And, since he didn't break out…" House made a spinning motion with his hand, egging Tim into the conclusion he himself had just drawn…and which had completely overwritten his earlier ideas on the subject of Jeremy Sanders.

"Then something affected him in such a way as to prevent his coming into his powers."

"Bingo!"

"This is just…" Allison seemed lost for words.

"Insane? Impossible? Fucked up?" House supplied. Then he looked up at Tim's housing. "Sorry about the foul language, Tim."

"I would say 'all of the above,' Greg," the supercomputer answered simply. "And apology accepted."

"We have to stop this," Allison said.

House rolled his eyes. "What have I been saying?" But he was relieved that Allison was finally seeing the light. "We need to get this sorted out before something else happens. Time is already messed up enough as it is, and besides, I hate being a paradox."

But, what he didn't say, was something Peter had cautioned him about: that if time changed drastically again, it could very well lead to House's own demise…he could follow Sanye and so many others into forgetfulness.

And that terrified him almost as much as the knowledge that he might never get his own Allison Cameron back.

 

* * *

 

Special Agent Seeley Booth stood just beyond the crime scene, hands deep in his coat pockets, watching his partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, working over the remains of the eleventh victim of the Incinerator Killer.

It was obvious; even the press, standing beyond the yellow tape, could tell that the corpse was burned to a crisp. Booth sighed, glancing around at the gathered crowd before turning his attention back to Brennan. Vultures, the lot of them.

"Female, approximately 18-24 years of age," she was saying as she squatted down beside this newest victim. Brennan moved a piece of burnt flesh aside to get farther into the body, and Booth stifled a cringe at the rustling noise it made. "There are at least two broken ribs, but any other injuries will have to wait for the autopsy." She looked up at Booth. "Can we move the body?"

"Yeah. Techies are done with the crime scene."

"Good. I'd like to get it back to the Jeffersonian as soon as possible." With that pronouncement, Brennan stood, little flakes of black ash clinging to the blue jumpsuit she wore.

"Eleven victims," Booth murmured as Brennan backed up to stand beside him, "and we're no closer to catching this whackjob."

"We'll get him, Booth," she answered, just as quietly.

Booth wished he could be so sure. He knew the file by heart: the first victim, that twelve-year-old kid, Greg House, back in 1971; to the latest, Paul Nguyen, back in May. There'd been a gap of seven months, and now this one, found in an alley in Arlington. The clues they found were always that same…nothing. They couldn't even identify the type of accelerant used in the bastard's flamethrower, nor the company where the bastard purchased his taser leads.

It was the ultimate in frustration.

As Booth watched, two men came forward and carefully put the body in a black bag, then take it away. "I'm sorry, Bones, but I just don't get it. I've tried looking at this case from every angle possible, and it's just as screwy every which way."

Brennan didn't say anything – for once – and Booth was grateful. She was getting better at recognizing when he just needed to ramble.

"Everything from the gap between the first victim to the second, to how he chooses the ones he does, just doesn't make sense. And then there's the accelerant, and how it hasn't changed since he started killing…" They'd exhumed the body of the House kid, and while the way the maniac had killed him – with a knife to the throat and no taser or torture involved – was different, the body had been burned in the exact same way. And yet…the fuel used was strangely modern, and even Hodgins and all his equipment couldn't completely figure it out.

Honestly, Booth's confidence in the squints was at an all time low.

"I've even talked to the cops who originally investigated the first killing," he went on, " and nothing. I feel like we're spinning our wheels here."

"The Killer is bound to get sloppy," Brennan reasoned. "You know all serial killers do eventually."

"And how many victims before that happens?" the agent asked hectically. "One? Three? A dozen?"

"It's not like you to be so defeatist."

She was right; Booth was usually the upbeat one of the team. But it was hard not to be defeatist, when nothing they were doing seemed to make any difference. "Thirty-six years, Bones," he sighed. "This bastard has been at work for thirty-six years. He must've been a kid when he started killing."

"Booth, we don't even know if it's the same man in all these cases," Brennan answered logically. "It could be two, or three…all part of a group of sorts."

"Yeah, that just makes my day. Thanks."

"You know what I mean."

Yes, he did know. That was what made the whole thing even more frustrating, because that meant even if they caught one, there could be another out there and no one would know until the killing started once more.

And they'd be back to square one.

"Let's go, Booth." Brennan laid a hand on his arm, trying to be sympathetic and managing quite nicely. "There's nothing left here, and I want to get back to the lab."

"Sure." He started to thread his way through the people busily finishing up processing the crime scene, heading toward his government-issue vehicle; Brennan walked beside him, her presence a comfort to him.

Suddenly though, she stopped. "What's up?" he asked.

"Um…nothing," she answered. "I…just see someone I recognize." She was looking out over the crowd of rubberneckers, her eyes firmly on a spot just beyond the yellow tape.

"Where?" Booth couldn't tell who she was looking at.

"I'll meet you at the car." With that, Brennan headed toward the place she'd been looking.

Booth followed her movement. She approached a couple standing just at the front of the crowd: the woman was pretty, with blonde hair and wearing a long dark coat trimmed with what looked like fur; and the man, considerably older, in a leather jacket and leaning on a cane…were those flames painted along the bottom of the cane?

Brennan stopped and addressed the woman. The stranger nodded, and made a motion that gave Booth the impression that she was introducing her companion.

He shrugged. While it was a bit hinky that Bones would see someone she knows at a crime scene, he'd seen weirder shit before. He dug the keys out of his pocket, then continued on his way.

 

* * *

 

The ride back to the Jeffersonian was done in near silence. Booth tried to initiate conversation a couple of times, but Brennan didn't seem to be in the mood. So eventually he knew to leave well enough alone, and turned on the radio for company.

He did wish that his partner would be a little more forthcoming at times. Yes, Brennan was getting better at sharing, but sometimes she fell back on those old habits that had a tendency to drive him up the wall.

His curiosity about the two at the crime scene grew. Despite Booth's best efforts to curb it and allow Brennan her privacy, he finally had to ask who they were.

She shrugged. "I know the woman. I met her at the funeral for a colleague, a couple of years ago."

"She also a colleague?" Booth pried.

"I guess you could say that."

"You can be so damned cryptic…"

"And you can be so damned nosy."

Her tone was quiet, but Booth got the hint. He shut up and drove.

 

* * *

 

Booth and Brennan entered the Jeffersonian, passing through security to get to the lab. His partner still seemed completely lost in thought, until they reached the lab's upper level; then Brennan made a beeline for Hodgins, taking the man aside and speaking to him in a tone Booth couldn't hear from where he was standing.

Screw it. She wanted to keep secrets, that was fine.

Instead, Booth headed toward the autopsy area, where Cam was prepping the newly arrived body for examination. She moved around the metal table, taking measurements with Zack's help, who seemed more jittery than normal…if that were possible. Booth wondered idly how much coffee he'd had that day.

"She just got here," Cam said, before Booth could get a word in, "so hold your horses, Seeley."

Booth grimaced. "C'mon, I know you're the best…"

"Flattery will get you nowhere." But Cam was smiling. "Zack, hand me the long tweezers please."

"Yes, Dr. Saroyan." The young squint did so.

Cam poked around the victim's abdomen with the instrument, pulling crackling burnt skin away to get a better look at the internal organs. "Damn," she cursed, using the tweezers once more to move other bits of crisped flesh away.

"What is it?" Booth wanted to know.

She sighed, straightening. "I won't know more until I get the autopsy properly started, but judging from the condition of the woman's uterus, I'm pretty sure she was pregnant."

Damn was right. The Incinerator Killer had shown no qualms at murdering children, but the idea that he'd now taken a pregnant woman…it made Booth's blood boil. He wanted this bastard something fierce. "Yeah, you'll need to confirm that."

"Seeley, that's not all…I'm saying she _was_ pregnant. The fetus is missing."

Now, that floored Booth. "Why'd he want to take an unborn child?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I want to check all this before I make any solid determination, though."

"You do that." This put a new spin on things. This killer was taking trophies now?

"Cam, is there a chance the fetus was viable outside the womb?" came Brennan's voice from the doorway.

The doctor shrugged. "Won't know that either until the full autopsy, and maybe not even until we've identified her and I've had a chance to see her medical records."

"Get started on that, Camille," Booth ordered. "We need to know what the hell went on with her."

"You got it." Cam moved around Zack, in order to get to the tools of her trade easier.

Booth joined Brennan at the door. "So, you're talking again?"

Brennan shrugged. "I never stopped. I simply didn't have anything to discuss earlier."

Whatever. "This is just one more thing that doesn't make sense. This maniac kills a woman who might have been pregnant, and possibly takes the baby. How whacked is that?"

"Very whacked indeed." Brennan crossed her arms over her chest. "I somehow doubt the urge to raise young suddenly came over him…or her."

"Shit. You're right. We've never really considered our killer female because of the ferocity of each assault. Female serial killers aren't usually skewed that way. But if the baby was taken…"

"Then it could have been some sort of warped maternal instinct coming into play."

Booth chewed his lip. "Then why didn't it come out before, when whoever this was murdered three other children?"

"Perhaps they were too old. Booth, you know how much I dislike psychology."

"But it was your idea." And a good one. "I wanna get the profilers in on this if Cam confirms her preliminary findings. It might add something to the current profile we could use. I'll also have a warning put out to the area hospitals, in case a newborn was brought in for any reason."

"Well, I can confirm that _something_ was in this uterus," Cam butted in. Booth turned, to see her nearly elbow deep in the dead woman's stomach. 'And _something_ was taken out. There's a cut remarkably like one made by a caesarian section across her lower abdomen. Can't confirm or deny viability, though at best guess I'd say she was at least eight months, judging from the size of the open uterus."

Booth wanted to be ill. Instead, he took out his cell phone and put in a call to the FBI profiling unit. The more information they had, the better chance they had of catching this sicko.

 

* * *

 

It stood, awaiting acknowledgement from its Master that it had returned, all the while holding the wriggling and screaming _thing_ that disturbed its sensibilities. It wanted the _thing_ to be silent, but could do nothing without risking injury.

Why had the Master asked it to bring this? What use would it be?

"You question my wisdom."

It wanted to deny it, but the Master was correct. It did question. And it was an uncomfortable sensation.

"Hand me the child."

It did so, willingly. The _thing_ bothered it more than the questioning of its Master.

The Master took the _thing_ , and the screaming stopped almost at once. He made what it considered to be an undignified noise toward the now quiet _thing_.

"You have done well. You shall certainly be rewarded for your loyalty and obedience."

It bowed, glad that it could have pleased its Master. Perhaps retrieving the _thing_ had been worth the trouble…and noise.

"Everything I have had you do has been for a purpose. The time lines are now in such turmoil the Time Guardians do no dare to leave their last bastion of defense against my machinations. And now…I have my heir. When the moment comes, you will obey her as you obey me."

It did not want to doubt the Master, but it also did not want to obey the _thing_. The very idea felt…wrong.

"Wait…"

It looked at the Master, who now seemed confused by the _thing_. Apparently something was wrong, judging from the way he glared. "This…isn't right." The Master's narrow eyes now turned on it, pinning it so it could not move. "Did you get the right female?"

It nodded, fear overcoming its own confusion.

The Master cursed.

It had never heard such language from the Master before. It did not know what to do; the Master had never been so angry. Perhaps if it offered to kill the _thing_ , since that seemed to be the cause of the Master's ire…

"No. This is my fault. I've so corrupted the time lines, there were bound to be changes to my plan." The Master lifted the _thing_ , examining the wriggling body closely. "This shall do. I had hoped for a female…yet this male will do admirably well. Perhaps this will work out for the best, in fact…" With those words, the Master became engrossed in the _thing_ once more, walking into another room.

And it was left alone. It did not mind in the least. The quiet was wonderful.

But soon – or was it soon? Time had no meaning for it anymore – the Master returned.

He wasn't alone.

"Give your allegiance to my son, your new Master…"

It did. It had no choice but to obey. But at least the squealing, squalling _thing_ was gone.

 

* * *

 

"See, I told you this would be an easier way of getting access to the investigation," Allison was arguing as she and Greg jaunted into the Lab.

She was irritated with the man. He seemed to think he knew best, that what he wanted to do was the right thing. All right, maybe he came from another reality and was the only one with first-hand knowledge of the fact that time was royally screwed up, but that didn't give him the right to boss her around. Really, who was to say which reality was the right one? Of course he'd say his was, because he wanted it back.

Plus, Allison was angry with herself. For one thing, she'd called off work that morning, just on this person's say-so. She'd _never_ called off work a day in her life, and it irked her to do so now. She'd never really wanted to get involved with Tomorrow People trouble ever again; she had a good job, a wonderful fiancé and a life that a lot of people would be jealous of. Sure, she was being selfish…but wasn't Greg as well, wanting to put something he considered correct back into place?

But wait…what if he wasn't what he claimed at all? Suddenly Allison was feeling that old sense of paranoia from back in the good/bad old days. What if this Greg House person was trying to make changes to time himself, to the detriment of the time lines? He did have that time disc, but maybe he stole it? Anything was possible…

" _I believe you are being far too suspicious, Allison,"_ Tim's calm voice made its soothing way into her brain.

" _Maybe,"_ she admitted. _"But just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you…"_

"You know," Greg drawled, taking a seat at the link table, "that's just plain rude. I don't talk about _you_ behind your back…not that Tim has a back, of course."

Allison started. How had he known? "What makes you think we're talking about anything?" she challenged.

The man rolled his eyes. "Look, I've been around Tomorrow People long enough to know when there's telepathic conversation going on."

It was a strange sort of proof, that he could tell when she was speaking mentally. Most Saps didn't have the first clue anything was going on. "Okay…but why do you think we'd even want to discuss _you_?" She put as much venom into her voice as she could.

"Please…who else would you be talking about? If it were someone not here, you'd be speaking out loud. So it must be me, since apparently you're saying things you don't want me to hear."

Allison was exasperated, and not afraid to show it. "Actually, we weren't talking about you, per se…I'm just not sure I trust your word that time has actually changed for the worst."

"Yeah, I'm familiar with your claims of a paranoid gene."

Her eyes widened. How had he known about that? It was something she'd only ever used among the other TP. _He did know her_ …

"Look," he went on, "I just wanna get time back on track and go home. And I'm sure you want me out of your hair…not that you'll even remember this reality, hopefully. So, why don't we just get all this doubting shit out in the open right now? Because the longer we dwell on it, the longer this takes. And, quite frankly, I want _my_ Tomorrow People back, because at least I can work with _them_."

The words stung, but Allison didn't know why it would bother her so much. This man was a stranger, someone she'd just met yesterday and who'd spun her a story that would've been science fiction to anyone outside that very room. "I'm sure," she snapped back, turning that pain into anger, "you just can't wait to get your world back, because you're just oh-so important in it!"

His blue eyes snapped. "I should remind you, that your precious John is alive in my time line because of _me_. Without me in this world, he _died_. Gone. Deceased. Pushing up the daisies. And several other synonyms I can come up with. So yeah, pretty damned important, don't you think?"

Allison's hands curled into fists. She didn't need to be reminded about John's death. It was the one thing she felt every day; that fading as his mind vanished from her mental embrace. She hadn't even been able to properly say good-bye…and Elena, at the funeral, so devastated…

"You conceited bastard," she snarled.

"That's me." The man actually looked smug. "Compliments will get you everywhere. You know, you're really sexy when you're angry."

Allison's jaw dropped. The utter _gall_ of the man! "You…" She literally couldn't come up with anything to say.

"Allison…Greg…" Tim cut in, his voice low in a deliberate attempt to bring back the sanity that had apparently vanished during their argument. "This acrimonious behavior will gain us nothing."

"No," she admitted, staring at the hated man before her, "but it makes me feel better." With that, she turned and stalked toward the jaunting pad, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but the Lab.

"Yeah, that's right," Greg sneered, "walk away from your responsibilities just because I pissed you off."

Allison made it to the middle of the pad, then spun around to face the stranger once more. "And I'm pretty sure _your_ Allison Cameron never walked away from _you_ ," she snarled.

Greg looked across the Lab, his eyes narrowed. "Sure she did. But then, you're not her. And you never will be."

That tone…Allison didn't know how to take it, only that it irritated her more than anything else he'd said to her yet.

She triggered her jaunt home.

The first thing she did upon arriving in her living room was to remove her jaunting belt and to toss the suddenly offending object onto the coffee table. Allison didn't want to be involved in this anymore. It wasn't her life.

" _Allison…are you all right?"_

" _Tim…I just want to be left alone."_ She didn't want to take her bad mood out on him; Tim hadn't done anything wrong. But, at the same time...he was supporting that odious man.

" _Of course. I do understand that you have your life – "_

" _Yes, I do. And I want to live it. I've never wanted to be back in this, Tim. My time with the Tomorrow People is long past."_

" _Allison, you_ are _a Tomorrow Person. You cannot simply walk away from who you are."_

She knew that. Too well. She'd been born a Tomorrow Person, and nothing could remove that part of her from her own genetic make-up.

It was the lifestyle she didn't want. Allison had long ago grown tired of the danger, and the paranoia and the sheer terror of that existence. And now, this complete stranger was insisting she pick it up all over again.

Just who the hell did he think he was?

" _I'm sorry, Tim. I just can't work with that man. How do we even know he's right?"_

" _Let me ask you: how do we know he is wrong?"_

That made Allison pause. Tim was right, of course. They didn't know if he _was_ wrong. _"But we don't know if he's_ right _."_

_"That is true. However, we can infer it from certain circumstances that have been brought forward since Greg's arrival."_

She knew he was correct there, as well. Even if the man had only the time disc in his possession, and wasn't some sort of paradox… _"I…just don't want to lose everything I man, just on this man's say-so. He's rude, crass, and a complete bastard. I can't work with him, Tim."_

" _I do understand your reticence, Allison. However, this is not the correct time line. We both know that. As for Greg…yes, his personality leaves much to be desired. Despite of what he claims, I cannot see myself working with him either. He is rather…I believe the term is "stuck on himself." Is that correct?"_

Allison laughed. _"Yes, Tim. That's right. And you've hit the nail on the head."_ She sighed, both mentally and physically. _"I just can't come back to the Lab right now. I need to get myself back under some sort of control. I just can't deal with that man right now."_

" _I understand. If you need anything…"_

" _I'll let you know."_

" _Very good. Take care, Allison."_

_"Thank you, Tim."_

" _You are quite welcome."_

With that, the supercomputer went off to deal with the bastard in the Lab. Allison left him to it, feeling sorry for Tim at the same time.

She changed into her most comfortable sweats, then got herself a cup of tea and sat on the sofa, flipping through the channels. Nothing much on at that time of day, except for talk shows and soap operas. Well, one more reason never to call out sick…

Yes, she'd go to work tomorrow. Certainly Tim and Greg can handle things in her absence. Allison found herself missing her job, and her friends…especially Alex.

She wondered how he'd reacted to her not showing up. Had he been worried? Allison glanced over at her answering machine; there were no messages, and if he'd called on her cell she would have known about it. Well, maybe he was giving her time to get better…

Allison didn't know how long she sat there, watching some stupid medical soap that kept insisting that one of the characters had Lupus when it was apparent from the symptoms that the writer had gone online and pulled stuff off some random website, when her doorbell rang.

"You don't look so good," Alex said, as she answered the door.

"I'll be fine," she reassured him, letting him in. Allison was very glad to see him, more than she would have thought. Having Alex there made her feel more like herself, made Allison forget her troubles and her anger at the interloper who'd intruded into her well-ordered life.

"I brought you something." He handed her a plastic bowl covered with an opaque lid. "It's chicken soup. I can't guarantee it won't make you feel worse…"

She accepted the bowl, touched by the gesture. "I know it'll be fine. I've had your cooking, remember?"

He smiled. "That you have. And you're still alive." He looked at her closely. "Are you sure you're okay? You look flushed."

"I promise, I'll be fine. Let me put this in the refrigerator. Why don't you have a seat?" Allison headed out to the kitchen, putting the soup away.

Alex made her happy. It was amazing, really. Allison was well aware of just how lucky she was…and then realized that, if they were successful about putting time back on its track, all of this would be over.

Of course, Greg had said she'd meet Alex in the other time line as well…but could she believe that? Would he say anything to get her cooperation?

Or was she just being her usual paranoid self?

"You actually watch this crap?" came his voice from the front room.

"No," she laughed, setting the plastic bowl on the top shelf of her fridge. Then she reached in for a soda for Alex, and headed back in to join him on the couch. "It's just something to bide the time."

"And this is why we have such good attendance," Alex joked, thumbing the remote to turn the television off. "No one wants to stay home and watch daytime TV. Well, except during the Olympics…"

Allison handed him his drink, then curled up against his side. She loved him terribly. Losing him would be a nightmare, one she didn't want to even think about. Alex was her soulmate, the one she knew she was meant to be with. And she was certain John would have liked him…damn, she wished her friend was there, and still alive.

She needed John's advice desperately.

But, if Greg was right, and John was alive in that other time line…Allison was being asked to give up herself and what she had with Alex for a chance to return John to life. How could she make such a decision?

It wasn't fair.

Alex's arm was strong around her shoulders, his body warm against hers. Allison had mourned John, and still did. He'd saved her life when others had thought she was a mere schizophrenic teenager. And then he'd died, because of a stupid misdiagnosis. And Allison hadn't had a chance to apologize to him for turning her back on him.

It was something she'd regret forever.

Allison cuddled up closer to Alex, wanting his nearness. She loved him. John would have wanted her to be happy. But at the same time, John would have done his damnedest to save the time lines and make sure everything was in its proper place.

"Hey, Allie…what's wrong?" Alex sounded concerned.

"Just…thinking." She'd never told Alex about what she was. That she wasn't even human in the strictest sense. What would he do if he knew? Would Allison lose him? Or would Alex accept who she truly was?

It had been fear that had held her back. Fear and selfishness, really. Alex deserved to know the truth. If she lost him…well, she'd deal with it. But Allison was coming to realize that hiding this fundamental part of herself from the man she loved was wrong.

And perhaps he could help her decide what to do.

"Must be heavy thoughts," he said, pulling her closer.

"You could say that, yes." She sat up, moving away from him. She looked him in the eye. "Alex, there's something I need to tell you…"

 

* * *

 

Booth was bored.

Way too bored for anyone's good, really.

He was currently taking up space in one of the desk chairs, his feet planted firmly on a desk currently not in use, playing with the idea of using the computer keyboard with his toes. He'd already been approached by Zach, and if Booth had thought the squint was finally going to grow a spine and tell him off for getting his feet all over the equipment, he'd been dead wrong. Zach had just stood there, looking like a deer in the headlights, then had turned and made a beeline for Hodgins' area, where the other squint was doing something with an evidence bag. Probably whatever it was had been what Brennan had talked to him about earlier.

Booth was too bored to really care.

This was the part of the investigation he hated more than anything: the waiting. Cam had miraculously managed to retrieve a fingerprint from their newest Jane Doe, and it was currently being run through any database the FBI had access to. Hell, he could practically tell where the search was: by now, it had to be through AFIS, and mostly likely the government employee records…Booth would bet good money the print was busily zipping its way through state civilian records, happily looking for a match.

_Come to daddy, little fingerprint…_

"Will you stop that?"

Booth glanced up. Angela stood there, her arms folded across her chest, looking mightily irritated. He sheepishly put the ballpoint pen he'd been absently thumbing back into his pocket. "Sorry."

"And get your feet off the furniture. Didn't your mother teach you anything?"

Yes, it took Angela Montenegro's distain to slap Booth back into shape. He sat up, sliding his shoes – and his bright green socks – off the desk. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Don't you have some perps to shoot or something?" Hodgins asked from across the aisle.

"You guilty of anything, Hodgins?" Booth called back.

"That would be telling," the scientist answered, looking smug.

"Boys," Angela said, rolling her eyes.

"He started it."

Hodgins smirked. "And your point is?"

"Apparently I don't have one." Booth turned his attention back to Angela. "Please tell me you have something."

"Well, I'm about as done with the facial reconstruction as I can be."

"Why didn't you say so?" Booth was up like a shot, suddenly no longer bored.

Angela did the eye rolling again. She unfolded her arms, handing her tablet over to the agent. "Thank you, Angela," she snarked.

"Thank you, Angela," Booth echoed, taking a good look at the woman on the computer screen. She was striking…no, she was downright beautiful. Angela had added dark hair and eyes. _What did you go through, before you had your baby ripped away from you?_

"I've already downloaded it to the FBI," the forensic artist went on. "Hopefully that'll help with the identification."

Booth's cell rang, and he fumbled a bit with the tablet as he handed it back. The caller ID made him grin. "We might not need it," he said, snapping the phone open. "Whatcha got for me?"

"A hit on that fingerprint," came the answer he'd been hoping for.

"Send the file over to the Jeffersonian, won't you?"

"Already done."

Booth closed his phone. "We got her. They're sending the file over now."

"Did I hear we have an ID?"

Booth turned to look as his partner. Brennan and Cam were coming toward them, Zach in tow. "Looks like it," he answered her.

"Already on it." Hodgins was at his computer, doing whatever squints do to retrieve the file from the FBI.

In seconds, a woman's face appeared on the screen. It was strikingly similar to Angela's reconstruction, down to the dark hair and eyes. "Nice job, Angela," Booth said, as he leaned over Hodgins to see better. "Name is Lisa Cuddy, apparently some sort of…crap, what's that word?"

"Endocrinologist," Hodgins obliged, smirking.

"Yeah, whatever…at some hospital in New Jersey."

"There isn't any missing persons report or anything on her," Hodgins commented, using the mouse to thumb through the information they'd been given…which wasn't much. "You'd think someone who worked in a teaching hospital would've been missed almost immediately."

"What about family?" Brennan asked.

"None listed. This just seems to be an employment record. Apparently she'd had her fingerprints taken as part of the terms of her contract with the hospital. Just another way to track people through the jobs they hold – "

"Is there a phone number there?" Booth interrupted, before the man could go totally off on a tangent.

"Yeah."

Booth picked up the house phone, dialing the number Hodgins called out to him. He put the thing on speaker as it rang. "Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, how may I direct your call?"

"Ask for the Dean of Medicine," Brennan prompted in Booth's ear. Her breath against his neck was…well, he wasn't going to go there.

"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, with the FBI. I'd like to speak to the Dean of Medicine, please."

"One moment please." There'd been a little squeak in the receptionist's voice, and it warmed Booth's heart.

"Good call, Bones," he said softly as hold music played through the speaker.

"Well, makes sense they'd have one, it being a teaching hospital…"

The music ended. "This is Dr. James Wilson," came a pleasant – and curious – voice on the line. "I'm the Dean of Medicine. How may I help the FBI?"

"Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Wilson. I understand you have a Dr. Lisa Cuddy working at the hospital?"

"Yes…I do. What's this all about?" Now there was caution, and a little suspicion.

No, Booth wasn't ready to go into that little detail just yet. Besides, he was a little nettled that the dead woman hadn't apparently been declared missing. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"I…I'm looking at her right now…"

Booth's mouth fell open. "She's there with you now?"

"Yes. Just a second…" There was a fumbling, then a click. "You're on speaker phone, Agent Booth. Lisa, this gentleman wants to speak to you."

"I'm Dr. Cuddy," an alto voice floated from the speaker. "What can I do for you, Agent Booth?"

No way was this right. There had to have been a mistake in the ID…but then there was Angela's reconstruction, and Booth knew the artist was hardly ever wrong… "Dr. Cuddy," he began, managing to get his mind unblown. "Sorry to bother you, but have you been approached by any strangers or suspicious characters lately?"

There was a pause. "No, I haven't. Is there something wrong?"

"We're just making routine inquiries." Oh no…nothing routine about this…Booth was speaking to a dead woman…

"I…see. No, actually I don't. Could you possibly be any more confusing?"

"Ask her if she's pregnant," came Brennan's whisper in Booth's ear once more.

Booth could feel Brennan leaning against his back. She'd gone tense, but then Booth couldn't blame her. Either they'd completely cocked up the identification or they'd officially stepped into the Twilight Zone…

He may was well ask. Booth doubted this could get any weirder. "Dr. Cuddy…do you happen to be pregnant?"

The pause this time was even longer. Booth could practically feel the surprise shooting from the open connection. "I am," the doctor finally answered, "although why that's any of your business…"

"How far along?" In for a penny…

"Fourteen weeks. It's not even common knowledge yet. Agent Booth, is there a reason for these personal questions?"

"It's part of an ongoing investigation, so I'm afraid I can't divulge that information." Falling back on routine was the only way Booth was going to get through this surrealness.

"I think we've been cooperative, Agent Booth," Dr. Wilson cut into the conversation. "But I must insist you stop asking my wife these questions. As she said, they're very personal and none of your business. Now, if there's anything else – "

"No, there isn't. Thank you for your time, and I apologize for any embarrassment –"

Booth's apology was interrupted by the sound of the line disconnecting.

Hodgins reached over and hung the phone up. He had that look on his face that just screamed that he'd creamed his conspiracy-boy pants. "That is so cool…"

"Okay." Booth ignored the man, turning to the others in the room. "We need to identify that body, people. I'm not going to call someone else and find out our ID is screwed up."

"But Seeley," Cam protested, "I took that fingerprint myself – "

"Then take it again, Cam. And Angela – "

"No." The artist stood there, frowning. "I stand by my work, Booth."

He gave it up, knowing how stubborn she could be when it came to her art. Maybe when they had a real ID on the victim she'd see reason.

"Booth."

He glanced at his partner. Brennan was looking at him sharply, an expression that Booth read as "I know something that you don't." He hated that look, because it hit home that she was about a gazillion times smarter than he was. "What, Bones?"

"Can I see you in my office?"

"Ooo…someone's going to the principal's office," Hodgins sing-songed.

Booth wanted to smack the man, but shit splattered. Instead he followed Brennan back to her office, where she closed the door behind her. "What is it? We really don't have time for you to chew my ass over treating the staff like doormats – "

"That's not it, Booth." Brennan sat behind her desk, waking up her computer with a jiggle of the mouse. Then she looked up at him intently. "Although I don't appreciate how you sometimes talk to the others – "

"Then what is it?" He was getting irritated.

"I was going to say, that I don't think the identification was wrong."

For the second time that day Booth's mouth dropped open. "I'd ask what you've been smoking, only I know you don't."

"My decision to use recreational drugs isn't relevant to this conversation – "

"Wait…you're saying you _have_? As in, actually smoked a joint?" Booth would have jumped up and down in glee if the situation weren't such a downer.

"The use of hallucinogens is well documented in certain aboriginal tribal groups…but that's not the issue. The issue is, I think the identification was correct, and that the remains of Dr. Lisa Cuddy are lying in our morgue."

"But you heard the conversation, Bones! Unless you're saying that wasn't Lisa Cuddy on the phone." Now, that was something he hadn't considered.

"No. I do believe that was her. But I also believe she's dead."

"That's impossible, Bones. You can't be in two places at once."

Brennan didn't answer. Instead, she began to work at her computer, using both mouse and keyboard. Booth tried to see what she was doing, but he wasn't at the right angle to snoop. "She's pregnant, Booth," she finally pointed out as she typed.

"So? Not as far along as that woman in the morgue."

"No. But it cannot be coincidence."

"That they're both pregnant? Geez, Bones…how many women on this planet are pregnant at this very moment?"

"I should think hundreds of thousands…if not millions…" She kept on typing, her eyes on the computer screen. "But how many of them have been identified as Lisa Cuddy?"

"Look, Bones…the ID was wrong. It has to be."

"And I say it's not." She suddenly stood, going to the door and sticking her head out. He heard her call for Hodgins; the squint appeared, carrying what looked like a cardboard evidence box. She took it from him, and a glanced passed between them that had the hairs on the back of Booth's neck standing up.

Then Brennan closed the door, using her hip so she could hold the box by the handles. "I'm only looking at this logically," she went on, setting the box down on the corner of her desk.

"Hell, there's nothing logical about this situation one bit…" and then it hit him. "Unless you know something I don't."

"I know quite a lot more than you do, Booth." She said it without humor, and without pride.

"Yeah, don't rub it in."

"That isn't what I…here, put this on." Brennan picked up something from her desk, handing it to him.

It was a belt.

An odd looking one, too. A black canvas-like material made up the loop that would fit around the waist, and a chunky looking buckle made up of tiles in a checkerboard pattern held the thing together. A dull gold disc hung from just behind the buckle. "What the hell...?"

Brennan was already sliding the weird belt on. "Trust me, Booth. It's much easier if I show you than tell you."

"Fine. Whatever." Booth put the thing on, adjusting it around the holster at his waist. "I really think you've lost it, Bones."

"Perhaps." She went back around to her computer, typing something in quickly. Then she joined Booth at the front of the desk, grabbing the box on her way. "If it makes you feel any better, I've only done this once…"

"Done what?"

The words were barely out of Booth's mouth when…

He was somewhere else.

 

* * *

 

House was glad that she'd gone. This timeline's Allison Cameron was almost too much of a distraction for him, and not in a good way. It wasn't just the horrible _blondeness_ of the woman…it was her attitude, her mannerisms, her very personality that was so wrong, and it jarred his sensibilities like seeing a shark walking around on land…oh, wait. That could very well happen with this group.

"Do you need anything, Greg?" Tim's solicitous voice interrupted his thoughts.

_A very large scotch_ …"No. Thanks." He couldn't even talk to Tim about it, because this wasn't his Tim, either. This wasn't the same biotronic supercomputer who'd "sneak" him jaunting belts so they could play chess into the wee hours…and House had even won on occasion. Nor was this the Tim he'd once gone to with help on a diagnosis, suspecting that the illness wasn't something of this Earth. House had been right, and together they'd managed to save the man from a horrible death.

This wasn't the Tim who House considered one of his very few true friends.

He slumped down on the sofa that took up a large chunk of the Lab's space, stifling a sigh. Thinking about that had made him think of Wilson, and he had to wonder just how different his other friend was now. What was Jimmy doing? Where was he? House was tempted to ask this other Tim, but didn't. Maybe he didn't really want to know, after all.

And what about Cuddy? Chances were, she would've still been hired by PPTH as their administrator, since that hadn't had anything to do with him. But whom had she hired to take his place? Who was she bossing around, since it wasn't him?

And Foreman, and Chase? Where were they? What were they doing now? Living their lives, certainly, without any memory of him…or possibly each other. Or was there someone else, another diagnostician, who'd managed to bring them together? That idea bothered House more than a little, that there could've been someone out there, taking his place…

And then he thought about the Tomorrow People. Without John…this version had shattered, leaving Earth behind for the Galactic Federation. House had saved John's life, and that hadn't happened here. It made him angry, and sad at the same time. Were new break-outs left on their own then…no, wait…it wouldn't have mattered, since there apparently hadn't been a new break-out in years…

But still, the loss of the Tomorrow People was a blow to House's hope for the future. Ever since he'd heard about the so-called "Great Break-Out", he'd wanted to be around for that future event. Every time there was a new TP emerging, House would wonder if this would be the one to herald that time. He'd had Tim explain to him how to help an emergent Tomorrow Person, how to aid in the break-out process. To House, a new race of humans was a good thing, and couldn't wait for them to arrive.

In ways, it was gratifying to House's ego that so much had been screwed up with his early demise. That, without him, so much had been changed, and for the worst in his opinion.

But…

No, he wanted his old world back. And that definitely included his own Cameron. He missed her more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

House didn't know how long he'd sat there, the silence of the Lab eating into his brain like a leech, before Tim spoke once more. "I have received a communication on my instant messaging system from Dr. Temperance Brennan. She is ready to come to the Lab."

"About time." House got up, stumping over to the link table. "I really wanna get this show on the road."

"She has just asked for two matter transporter belts, and I have sent them to the coordinates traced to her transmission."

House raised an eyebrow. Two? He wondered who she was bringing with her.

He didn't have long to wait, in order to find out. The jaunting pad lit up, as Tim brought the new guests to the Lab. House recognized Brennan, of course, from the crime scene; she was a really hot brunette, although not in his Cameron's league. The woman took a good look around the Lab, but it was more appraising than curious.

"Welcome back to the Lab, Dr. Brennan," Tim greeted her warmly.

"Hello, Tim," the anthropologist answered. "It's been a while."

"Yes. Since John's funeral." Those three words were full of sadness and regret.

"He was a good man," Brennan replied. "I'm certain he is missed." Her blue eyes met House's. "You were with Allison at the crime scene." It wasn't a question."

"Glad to know I'm easily remembered," House replied, some of his old snark returning. "You gonna introduce your friend?"

Brennan turned back toward the jaunting area, where her companion was still standing, box in his arms and a gobsmacked look on his face. House knew him, of course; it was the FBI agent from the crime scene, and he was willing to bet this guy was that Booth guy who'd been investigating Jeremy Sanders' disappearance back on his own world.

"This is Special Agent Seeley Booth," the woman answered. When the guy didn't respond to her, Brennan snapped softly, "Booth!"

The FBI agent seemed to come to his senses. "What the fuck was _that_?" His voice nearly squeaked.

Brennan's eyes rolled. "We teleported," she said matter-of-factly.

"You say that like it's the most natural thing in the world." Booth was looking at her as she'd grown a second head.

"For some it is."

"Next you're gonna be saying we're on the Moon."

"Now that's a little ridiculous…"

Their verbal fencing would have been fun if House had been in the mood. "If you're finished screwing around, we have a killer to catch."

Booth looked at him, his shock only visible in his eyes now. "And who the hell are you, sunshine?"

House bristled at the confrontational tone. "I'm the one who's gonna save all our asses. And the last jackass who called me Sunshine ended up with an electrically charged probe shoved up his urethra without benefit of anesthesia."

The Fed had the good sense to wince at that mental image.

"Greg is correct," Tim put in. "Although I would have wished he might have put it a little more…delicately, than he actually did."

"Do I even wanna know who said that?" Booth asked acerbically.

"That's Tim," Brennan answered. "He's the artificial intelligence who runs the Lab."

"Which I would guess is this place." His voice had gone back to being a little high-pitched.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud." House had had about enough. "Didn't you clue him in on what to freaking expect?"

"I had thought he would adapt somewhat quicker than he appears to be," Brennan admitted.

"I would appreciate it if the language could be somewhat toned down," Tim suggested.

House ground his teeth in frustration. "Fine," he muttered. "But can we get things going here? Time isn't going to fix itself."

For that comment, he got looks from both the newcomers, but House could give a shit. He was tired, and he wanted to go home. His home. Where his Cameron and his Tomorrow People were waiting for him to put things right.

"Put the box up on the table," he contented himself with saying, motioning to the scan table.

"Artificial intelligence?" Booth asked, as he did what House wanted.

"The most powerful computer on the planet," Brennan answered, casting looks at both men as if she was expecting them to get up to trouble.

"I do feel a little insulted at being called a "computer", Dr Brennan," Tim corrected. "I am to a computer as an abacus is to your personal laptop."

"I apologize, Tim."

"Thank you."

House let the conversation roll over him as he began digging into the box that Booth had finally set down. Files and various evidence bags filled it to near bursting. He started pulling the clear bags out, setting them on the lighted tabletop. "See if you can get anything out of these, Tim."

"Thank you, Greg. I shall begin my scans at once."

_Well, at least Tim was content to work on the problem_ …House grabbed the box by one of the punched out handholds, dragging the files back to the sofa in order to have a look at what the FBI had been up to since the killer had arrived on the scene.

Brennan joined him. "What do you hope to find that the authorities haven't?"

House pulled some of the files out and set them in his lap. "You know what they say about a fresh set of eyes."

"We've been working on this case for decades –" Booth started.

"And how far have you got?" House challenged, glaring up at the man. "Look, I know things you don't. So you might as well have a seat while I dig through all this sh-stuff and see what I can find."

"There would be nothing in the files that I myself could not discover," Tim said gently.

"No offence," House said, "but you think I'm nuts."

"That is not true, Greg."

"Yes, it is. And I'd think I was nuts too, if I was in your position…well, not exactly. You wouldn't catch me mounted on the ceiling with my balls hanging out."

He heard Booth snicker. Well, at the least the guy had a sense of humor. And Tim's mounting made the best material for such jokes.

"And why would he think you were mentally disturbed?" Brennan asked curiously.

House looked at her. From what Allison had said – and Tim had backed it up with his greeting – Dr. Temperance Brennan knew her way around the Tomorrow People. She'd know that weird shit happened around them, and maybe what to expect. Did he want to share it with her?

What the hell…he needed all the help he could get. And what are a few more people thinking he was off his rocker?

He rifled through the files, finding the one he knew had to be there. House flipped it open…and shivered as he saw the photos within.

"You okay?"

His head shot up at Booth's question. The Fed actually looked concerned. "Oh sure…if you call being a whacking great time paradox okay."

House handed the file to Brennan; she took it, glancing inside. "This is the first victim, Gregory House."

"Sure it is." He favored them both with a sour smile. "And it happens to be me."

 

* * *

 

Booth didn't know what to think, let alone how to react.

One second, he was in Bones' office, holding a box and wearing a ridiculous belt, feeling like someone was playing some sort of bizarre joke on him.

The next, he was standing in a strange place, being greeted by a sarcastic guy with a cane and a weird pulsating thing in the ceiling asking him to watch his language.

Brennan, though, didn't seem at all fazed. In fact, apparently she'd been there before, at least that was what the four glowing balls in that ceiling thing had intimated. Sure she had. She'd known what to expect, and hadn't bothered to tell Booth a thing.

He was miffed by that.

Okay, so the thing was some sort of fancy computer. And it was named Tim, for crying out loud. Who the hell named a computer Tim?

Booth took an instant dislike to the man, Greg. He just rubbed Booth the wrong way, like someone was running their fingers down a chalkboard. He just seemed so…know-it-all. It was like dealing with a male Brennan, only not nearly so nice. Or nice looking.

The guy taking over was bad enough. But it was the claim that he was someone who'd been killed decades before that finally sent Booth over the edge.

"Yeah, sure," the agent scoffed, as Brennan perused the file on the dead kid, Gregory House. "And I'm the Easter Bunny."

The man looked at Booth as if he were some sort of interesting bug. "Where do you hide the ears then?" he challenged.

Booth was about to retaliate, but Brennan interrupted. "Booth, you should try to keep an open mind."

"But not so open my brain falls out!"

"Would it make any difference if it did?" the man snapped.

Booth opened his mouth once more, then realized the guy had been introduced as Greg. No way, too much weirdness to be real.

"Booth," Brennan went on, "how can you discount his story when we've had evidence of such a paradox already in this case?"

"Well, you know how I feel about that," the agent countered. "Misidentification, most likely."

Greg's ears visibly pricked up. "What do you mean?"

"The victim at the crime scene where you and Allison approached me…she was identified as a Dr. Lisa Cuddy, but when we interviewed her husband we discovered that she was actually alive. We did, in fact, speak with her directly."

Booth was surprised to see the guy go suddenly pale. The cane he'd been fiddling with hit the floor with a clatter, and the sudden noise made Brennan jump a little.

"Are you all right, Greg?" Tim the computer asked, sounding like it cared.

It took about three seconds for Greg to answer. "Yeah, sure. But it sounds like a second paradox, all right. I mean, how can…this woman, be both dead and alive?"

"Like I said, a misidentification," Booth answered, wanting to get it clear to them that it couldn't be what they were thinking.

"Angela doesn't make mistakes like that," Brennan pointed out. "And I trust her word when she says she didn't make an error. Besides, how can you dismiss the evidence of the pregnancy?"

Now the guy was green. "Pregnancy?" There was an odd tone to his voice, like he was trying to force something evil-tasting down.

Booth wondered what was up with him.

"Yes. Our examination showed that the victim was at least eight months pregnant, and the fetus had been removed. The living Dr. Cuddy is only fourteen weeks along."

Now Booth was absolutely certain something was going on. His gut was screaming at him, telling him this guy was hiding something. What, Booth didn't know. But this latest victim was something to the supposed Gregory House, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

The agent was derailed from asking his question by the man's sudden standing. He began to pace, the movement looking painful even to Booth's medically untrained eye. He wondered just what sort of injury would cause that.

"Okay," this Greg began. "We now have two temporal anomalies. This murderous asshole is getting sloppy."

"Or perhaps he no longer cares if someone notices," Tim said pedantically.

"Could be. Although I doubt he knows about me."

Booth wanted to roll his eyes. Did this guy get any more full of himself? "And why wouldn't he know about you?" he countered, letting his irritation show.

Greg stopped his pacing, turning to look at Booth squarely. "He killed me as a kid for a reason," he answered, his own irritation evident. "But I doubted he counted on me being somewhere his meddling wouldn't touch. Besides, if I was so important I'd think he'd try again, and he hasn't."

"To be fair, Greg," Tim put it, "this killer might not know where you are presently. You would be well shielded here in the Lab."

"And what's so fair about some nutjob wanting to kill me?"

Booth thought he had a valid point…then stopped himself. He still didn't believe much of what the guy was saying, and the fact that he was hiding something gnawed at his gut like a beaver had gotten into his pants. "Can you prove you're really the kid in that file?"

Greg rolled his eyes. "Of course I can't. It's not like they had DNA testing or anything back then, so there won't be a convenient genetic sample for comparison laying around somewhere. You just have to take my word for it."

"Take the word of someone claiming to be some sort of paradox? You're gonna have to give me more than that to work on."

"I do have some preliminary test results on the items I was asked to scan," Tim chose that moment to interrupt. It was a good thing, too. Brennan was beginning to look really pissed. But she had to understand that Booth wasn't about to accept anything like that at face value when there was obviously something really hinky going on…

"What do you have?" Greg asked, looking up at the glowing round thing that was the computer thing.

"There are several instances of the presence of chronometric particles on the items I have scanned," that calm voice answered. "Also, there is a piece of metal that, according to my records, came from the last but one victim, Paul Nguyen. It is an alloy that is often found in structures that are constructed to be earthquake resistant."

"We discovered that as well, Tim," Brennan said. "We traced it to a company in St. Louis, Missouri."

"And of course you discovered that there are no such buildings like it in Washington, DC."

"Yes, we did."

"Then this would not be news to you then." Tim paused. "However, I have been able to ascertain that the atomic structure of the metal in question has been excited by the presence of an alien energy that I am not familiar with. I shall query the Galactic Trig for more information."

Everything was fine until Booth heard the word "alien." It was at that point that his credibility hit its limit. "Hold on! Are we talking outer space kinda alien here?" He felt as if he'd just walked into Hodgins' idea of conspiracy Heaven.

"Booth," Brennan looked at him pointedly. "We've been discussing temporal paradoxes, and yet you find the idea of alien life implausible?"

"It's apples and oranges, Bones," he defended himself. "At least time being screwed up is something we can do ourselves, with the right technology. And who says I believe it anyway? There's no proof this guy isn't just some nut who's escaped from the local looney bin."

"More like escaped _to_ one," Greg muttered, shooting Booth a dirty look.

Yeah, Booth definitely didn't like the guy. "Look, whoever you are…I don't trust you. You're hiding something, and you're an asshole to boot. Come clean and I might believe you."

The older guy was apparently spoiling for a fight. "I don't have to tell you a damned thing that doesn't have to do with the problem at hand," he snapped back. "Right now the only thing you need to believe is that I want to catch the Incinerator Killer as much – or maybe even more – than you do. I want to be able to go home, to my old life. The last thing I want to do is hang around some alternate timeline where I'm dead. Think you can wrap your tiny brain around that?"

"Stop it." Brenna stepped between the two, before Booth's natural urge to hit the guy took over. "Booth, we're leaving. Tim, let me know when you get anything else."

"I shall, Dr. Brennan."

"Thank you." She took Booth by the arm and practically dragged him back to that lighted pad thing they'd first appeared on. Once there, she turned. "Mr. House, I'll keep in touch."

The man started, then nodded. "Actually, it's Dr. House. But…thanks."

Brennan nodded once."Tim, teleport us back to my office, please."

"As you wish," the computer answered.

Before Booth could object, they were back where they'd started.

Immediately, Booth turned on his partner. "I can't believe you trust that jerk! Plus you left all our evidence wherever it was were were! We won't be able to use it in court now!"

"Booth." Brennan stood there, her arms crossed. "Hasn't it occurred to you yet that whoever this killer is, he won't be tried in an Earthly court of law?"

He opened his mouth to answer her, but stopped. Of course that hadn't occurred to him at all, since he was very far from convinced that this Greg person was on the level, let alone sane. "C'mon, Bones…you can't be buying into this shit!" he finally exclaimed. "Time being messed up, and aliens? Next you're gonna be telling me the moon is made of green cheese and a pig can fly!"

"That is absolutely nonsensical," she answered, in her calm "I know more than you do" voice. "A pig is simply not aerodynamic enough – "

"You know what I mean." Booth plopped down on the sofa.

"Then how do you explain our being teleported from my office and to the Lab, and back?"

"Some sort of super secret tech, I don't know…but it's easier to swallow than that bull we were just fed. I want to know why you're so convinced with such little evidence."

Brennan slowly removed the weird belt and laid it on her desk. She made a motion with her hand that Booth interpreted as "give me your belt," which he did. It joined its companion. "I believe it because I do, in fact, have more evidence than you think I do."

That wasn't as big a surprise as it should have been. "You gonna share?"

The anthropologist shrugged. "You won't believe me, either."

"Bones…you're my partner. Of course I will."

She looked at him closely. Booth squirmed, feeling like he was being examined under one of the lab's microscropes. Then Brennan sat on the edge of her desk, meeting his eyes. "Five years ago, I met this man on an archaelogical dig in Northern England. He was handsome, well-educated, intelligent…we became friends. But there were things about him…like the fact that he seemed to show up without transportation, or have equipment that he didn't arrive with. I did some checking, and he seemed fairly normal. But I began putting two and two together, as it were. And I came up with something you might consider fantastic."

Booth returned her gaze. A part of him didn't want to hear anything else, because she was being way too calm about it, and while the story had started out fairly normal he had this feeling it was about to get weird.

"You see," she went on, "there had been rumors within the scientific community for years about a possible evolutionary branch of mankind that was in advance of _Homo Sapiens_. They had certain abilities that normal humans simply didn't have. As an anthropologist, this made complete sense to me. To others, it was simply fantasy. So, of course when this man showed certain…signs, I hypothesized that he was one of these advanced beings."

Yeah, definitely weird.

"And then," Brennan contnued, "I received word that this man had died. He'd remembered me in his will, you see. I was surprised to say the least, especially since I hadn't heard from him since the dig had ended. And of course I decided to attend the funeral."

Brennan lowered her head, lost in thought. Booth remained silent, even though he wanted to ask her if she was all right. It was pretty obvious that she'd liked this guy she was talking about, and despite her coolly logical exterior his death had affected her.

"What I saw at the funeral…you see, I was correct in my hypothesis. He was, indeed, one of these genetic offshoots, with powers that elevated him above everyone else. But what I didn't realize was that he and his people – they called themselves the Tomorrow People – had connections beyond Earth. In fact, the service couldn't be held on Earth at all, because it would have been impossible for most of the people there to attend if it had been."

Booth simply stared. His partner had either lost her mind, or…he didn't want to believe what she was telling him, but this was _Bones_ who was calmly telling him this story. He _had_ to listen. He couldn't _not_ listen, even if he thought she was severely deluded.

No, not his Bones. She was the most down-to-Earth person he knew…then he had to stifle a chuckle when he realized just what he'd thought.

"I saw beings there, Booth….beings like walking starfish, and intelligent dinosaurs, and even a red dolphin who lived within a bubble of water held together by an advanced form of forcefield. There were humanoids there as well; they looked like us, except they'd never once set foot on Earth. And they'd all been drawn there to honor a man who'd touched all their lives in some way. There were over two thousand at his service, Booth. Two thousand who would miss him. And I was told that, ironically, he'd always considered himself a loner, someone who didn't collect friends easily."

She sighed. The look in her blue eyes spoke volumes to Booth; they were filled with awe and sadness and wonder at what she'd seen. "They were our protectors, Booth. These Tomorrow People. They've saved the planet time and time again…and no one ever knew. Or will know, now. Because another thing I witnessed at this funeral was the final dissolution of ther Tomorrow People on Earth. They're gone now, Booth. We lost our protectors when John died. I was so surprised to see Allison at the crime scene, since I'd thought she'd left as well. But I was glad as well. It means someone else is looking out for our world. And it makes me feel that much safer."

Booth couldn't believe what he was hearing. He prided himself on having his feet firmly planted on old terra firma, and now Brennan seemed determined to wipe out that certainty. To hear this sort of story from her…it was shocking, to say the least. But, at the same time, this was Bones talking. Dr. Temperance Brennan, the woman who didn't believe in anything she didn't see with her own eyes. If she was talking like that…then Booth had to either consider the idea that she'd completely lost her mind…

Or that she'd actually seen what she was claiming.

"So you see," she continued, "I do believe what Dr. House and Tim are saying. Because I've seen it, Booth. And while I don't have any experience with temporal paradoxes, I believe in them based on what I've witnessed. They're telling the truth. And I wish we'd been able to get the full story before you decided everyone had lost their minds."

Her tone made Booth feel guilty. "Maybe I did jump the gun a little," he admitted. "But c'mon, Bones. What we were told was just too incredible. I don't have the experience you've had. How did you expect me to accept it?"

"I've seen you accept some fairly bizarre stories before."

"Yeah, okay…but they've always had perfectly acceptable explanations behind them."

"And this doesn't?"

"Hell no!"

One side of her mouth crooked upward in a wry smile. "I should have realized, with your pedandic mindset, that such ideas might be beyond your acceptance."

"Hey, was that an insult?"

Brennan didn't answer. Instead, she headed toward the closed office door. "We should get back to work. Tim will inform us when he gets anything."

Booth dug himself off the couch. He might have been willing to buy what Brennan was selling, but there was still something off about that Greg guy. And he was determined to find out what it was.

 

* * *

 

On the whole, Alex took the truth very well.

Allison hadn't been sure how he'd take knowing that the woman he was engaged to was actually the next step in human evolution, but he listened carefully, asking questions at certain points of her explanation that were intelligent and showed that he truly was paying attention to what she was saying. And when she'd demonstrated jaunting…Alex had been floored, of course. But after his initial shock he'd excitedly asked her to show him again, and Allison had dutifully complied.

"I always knew there was something special about you," he said, once she was done and had rejoined him on the couch, "but I had no idea…"

Allison reached out and took his hand. "I'm glad to know this doesn't change anything between us."

"But it does," Alex insisted. "It makes me treasure you even more." He leaned over and kissed her.

As she returned the kiss, Allison was keenly aware of the relief she was feeling. Her sudden burst of honesty could have gone so horribly wrong, and she could have lost him.

After a while, she pulled away. "Alex, there's more…"

She went on, explaining about Greg's sudden appearance in her car, and his story about the timelines being corrupted. Allison left nothing out, including their presence at the latest murder scene and her connection to Dr. Temperance Brennan, who was helping investigate the so-called Incinerator Killer, and how she'd arranged for the forensic anthropologist to meet with them about the case. And finally, she finished up with her disagreement with Greg, and her coming home.

Allison bared her soul to Alex. There was no way she could hold anything back from him. Not now, once she'd gotten started. He sat there, his handsome face growing graver as she continued.

"I don't know if I want you involved in all this, Allie," he said seriously, once she was finished. "It's far too dangerous."

Truth to tell, Allison didn't want to be involved, either. Her life had been nice, quiet, and fulfilling. She had the most wonderful man as a fiancé. She had a job that she loved doing and friends who enjoyed being around her. She'd long ago given up anything to do with the Tomorrow People. She regretted being dragged back into anything that smacked of that former life.

But, at the same time…those bonds were still so very strong. The idea of turning her back on Greg when things were so totally screwed up – at least according to him – had been impossible. If only John was still alive, or any of the other Tomorrow People were on Earth…

And if Greg had been correct, about John still being alive in that other timeline…

Allison realized then that it all came down to a single decision: trust what Greg says, and perhaps get John back; or possibly lose Alex. But hadn't Greg claimed that she'd met Alex in this other life? Could she trust him? Truly trust him?

"I need to be involved," she finally answered. "This is important, Alex."

"But you said you weren't interested in that sort of life anymore."

"I know." Allison sighed. "But I'm the only one left. And if this Greg is right, then time is messed up…and getting farther out of control. There isn't anyone else. It…it's my duty."

One side of his mouth curled up in a sardonic smile. "You make it sound like you're in the military or something."

"No, not that." Never that. "But there are certain things that Tomorrow People do. And one of those is saving this planet."

"I don't mean to belittle you, love…but that sounds a tad bit grandiose."

Allison was a little miffed at his attitude. She moved away from him slightly, putting her back against the arm of the sofa. "And just what is your company doing, Alex?"

"Well, we're trying to make the world a better place…" That half smile returned, but Allison could tell it wasn't aimed at her. "Point to you, Allie. We're each trying to help mankind in our own way."

"Exactly." She was glad he was seeing things her way at last. "Mine way is just a bit more…proactive."

Alex simply looked at her for almost a full minute. Then he smiled, and this time it was the genuine, sweet smile Allison loved so well. "For as long as I've known you, you've always tried to do the right thing. It might not be the popular way to go, but you never seemed to care. Never change, Allie. Promise me you'll never change."

She returned the smile. "I'll try, Alex."

His green eyes met hers squarely. "That's as good as a promise. Because I know whatever you put your mind to, you can do."

Allison felt a warmth radiate through her chest. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, tell me more. I'd love to know about this Lab of yours…"

Alex stayed late, but eventually left. Allison was a little disappointed; she'd been hoping he would spend the night. But he'd pleaded an early morning meeting, and he hadn't brought a bag with him.

As she'd said good night, he'd told her not to worry about work, but to call him if he could help with anything. Allison appreciated it, but there was no way she was going to get Alex more involved than he already was. It was too dangerous, and she wasn't about to risk him by bringing him too deeply into her life.

But she'd told him things, things she'd never thought she'd tell anyone. She'd even talked about John, and what he'd meant to her. Alex had seemed to understand, and had encouraged her to try to fix things, to bring John back.

His words made up her mind.

Allison took a shower, then curled up on the couch with a mug of hot tea. It was late, but she knew Tim was up all hours…

" _Good evening, Allison,"_ the artificial intelligence answered her call. _"I take it all is well now?"_

" _It is. I apologize for my behavior earlier."_

" _Do not concern yourself. You were under a great deal of stress."_

Allison was grateful for his unequivocal support. _"Did you hear from Dr. Brennan?"_ she asked, changing the subject.

" _We did. She and Special Agent Booth came to the Lab, bringing all the evidence and files from the current investigation. The files are not needed, since I have access to their secure mainframes; however the completeness of the data is appreciated."_

" _What happened?"_

" _Nothing much as yet. I am still processing my findings. Perhaps in the morning I shall have news to impart."_

" _Is Greg still awake?"_ Allison felt she had to ask about their guest.

" _He is. He has asked for a game of chess, and I am obliging him. He is quite a proficient player."_

She was a little surprised by the answer. While she didn't know the man, Greg, all that well, he hadn't struck her as someone with the patience for chess. _"Who's winning?"_

" _We are currently too early in the game to speculate. Normally, I would know fairly soon. However, as I said, Greg is quite proficient. There is a thirty-two point six two three percent chance that he may actually check in this game."_

" _I am impressed."_

" _I am as well. Perhaps –"_

Allison was surprised by Tim's voice suddenly cutting off. _"Tim?"_

" _Allison!"_ He answered, his mental voice suddenly urgent. _"There is an intruder in the Lab – "_

That tone brought her to her feet, her tea mug landing on the carpet, completely forgotten in her panic. _"Jaunt me there – damn! My belt!"_ She'd taken it off when she'd showered and changed, and hadn't put it back on.

Allison bolted into the bedroom, where she'd set the jaunting belt onto the dresser. As she flipped it around her waist, she called Tim again to jaunt her in.

The bedroom faded, replaced by the Lab. The smell of burning plastic struck her like a physical blow, and Allison couldn't help but cough.

There was a sudden sound of an energy bolt being fired, and a green beam struck Tim's housing, blackening one of his hemispheres. A strange shrieking noise sounded from the biotronic supercomputer as sparks arched from the damaged housing to the scan table.

Allison gasped, ducking for cover behind the sofa. She tried to make for the rack of the stun guns, but another bolt struck her hiding place, scorching the fire-retardant fabric and melting it. She crouched down closer to the floor, her heart pounding fit to burst.

Who had managed to get into the Lab?

And where was Greg?

" _Tim"'_ she called out telepathically. _"Where the hell is he?"_

" _In the middle of the Lab."_ Tim's voice sounded strange, almost metallic, in her mind. _"I have tried to raise a containment field, but my controls have been seriously damaged by the intruder's weapon. Allison, it is not a he –"_

Tim was interrupted by the sound of another shot. Allison risked looking over the back of the sofa; whoever it was had taken aim at Tim again, and yet another of his balls was damaged. She glanced toward the stun gun rack. This could be her chance…

On that thought, she darted out from her hiding place, her hand reaching toward the nearest gun. Her grasping fingers managed to pull it free, and Allison swung the gun up, taking aim toward the center of the Lab, where Tim had said the intruder was.

A shape was there, dressed all in black. A hood obscured the intruder's features so Allison wouldn't have said what gender it was, let alone what race. Although Tim had said it wasn't a "he"…whatever that meant.

Allison fired at the dark shape. Her first shot went wide, and only managed to draw attention to herself. The being turned to look to her; she froze in fear, staring at that featureless head.

" _Tim!"_ she cried out, both mentally and vocally. Her finger reflexively squeezed the trigger, and this time her shot struck the intruder dead center of the chest.

And did absolutely nothing.

The metallic gun the assailant carried aimed in her direction. There wasn't anything Allison could do, but stare down that barrel in pure terror.

"Get her out of here, Tim!"

Even as Allison registered that it was Greg's voice shouting from somewhere she couldn't see, she could feel the unmistakable sensation of being jaunted away. She tried to stop it, but Tim overrode her.

And Allison found herself outside the Lab, in the middle of a park somewhere, the darkness of the night shrouding the fact that she was only wearing her pajamas.

" _Tim!"_ she shrieked, her mental voice full of fear and horror.

There was no answer.

 

* * *

 

Booth had been dreaming – and quite a pleasant dream it was, too – when he was rudely awakened by a sudden weight across his chest.

His eyes snapped open. In the darkness he could just make out the silhouette of someone above him, sitting on him in an effort to keep him immobile. The cold metallic sensation of a gun was pressed against his neck.

"I wouldn't move if I were you."

The voice was female, and sounded very angry. She was breathing heavily as well, almost as if she'd run a marathon, although Booth realized it had more to do with emotion than with physical exertion.

How the hell had she gotten into his place?

"Okay, let's just calm down and talk about this," he tried to soothe her.

"Who are you?"

The question surprised him. "Special Agent Seeley Booth – "

The gun ground a little deeper into the sensitive skin of his throat. "No, who _are_ you?"

Booth caught the stress in her question, and was confused by it. "I told you…"

His assailant was silent for about half a minute. Booth could almost feel the heat of her gaze on his skin. He toyed with the idea of trying to overpower her, but resisted. His natural curiosity was in overdrive, and he figured he could get more out of her if she thought he was helpless.

"I don't believe you," she finally answered, her voice rough with fury. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

Who the hell was she talking about? "Look," he went on, pitching his voice into negotiation mode, "why don't you tell me what you want, okay? We can work this out."

He could feel her trembling. Only the gun at his neck was steady, but Booth wasn't sure that was because her hand was controlling it as much as it was pressed against him so tightly. He knew he had to placate her, to get her to open up to him, if he was going to figure out what was going on.

Then, he saw the woman's shadow lean over a little more. The weapon dug a little deeper as she moved, and Booth resisted the urge to grunt against the pressure.

A hand touched his forehead, sweeping across the skin like he'd just walked into a spider web. The fingers were cold, and shaking slightly. Booth got the distinct impression that she was hesitating, which had to be a good sign…didn't it?

"C'mon now," he went on calmly, "you don't want to do this, do you?"

While he couldn't see her face, her body language – what he could feel, anyway – was speaking volumes. Booth could tell this attack was somehow against her nature, that she really didn't want to be there. And while Brennan might have dismissed his "gut" feeling, Booth went with it all the way.

"Why don't you put the gun away and we can talk about whatever this is all about," he soothed, lying completely still. She still had a hand on his face, fingertips resting just over his right temple. "Maybe I can help – "

"No." That single word cut across his own words like a knife. Her trembling suddenly ceased.

Booth knew without a doubt that the time for talking was over. She must have regained some of the original resolve that had brought her to this. "Wait –"he cried, tensing himself to make a move.

But it wasn't the gun he should have worried about.

His attacker's free hand moved from his temple to caress his forehead. And in the wake of that movement Booth felt a tingling, as if ants had somehow gotten into his skull. He tried to pull away, but she held him steady.

There was a sudden pressure behind Booth's eyes, and it was like they wanted to jump from their sockets. Despite himself he moaned in pain.

" _Rest easy."_ The woman's voice seemed to echo in his now tortured brain. _"I need to know…"_

The pressure intensified. It blotted out everything. What had once been dark to Booth's vision whited out, and he wasn't able to see anything beyond that whiteness. He tried to fight, but had no idea what he was even fighting against…

There was _something_ in his head. Something pushing itself through his very thoughts, his secrets, his memories, even his emotions. Everything that was Seeley Booth was laid bare to this _thing_ , and he couldn't stop this terrible violation.

If he'd been physically aware, Booth would have felt the tears on his cheeks as whatever was happening to him continued. This was agony beyond pain, beyond anything he'd ever experienced. He wanted to withdraw, to escape…but couldn't.

Booth had no idea how long it went on, but eventually the pressure seemed to be fading. He could feel a new pounding; this was the sound of his pulse as his racing heart pumped blood furiously to his tortured brain. He couldn't move; couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but lay there in the returned darkness, staring up at the black silhouette of the woman above him.

"I'm so sorry…"

Her voice was choked with tears…not that Booth really noticed. He was too busy lying there, shaking as his body and mind began to come back under his control. What the hell had she done to him?

The woman's weight was gone, as was the gun she'd been prodding him with. Booth did notice that…and his clearing vision tracked her shadow as she sat on the bed next to him. Her hand brushed across his forehead once more, and he flinched.

"I truly am sorry…"

He wanted to tell her to go to hell. Booth wasn't at all sure what she'd done to him, but he knew she'd screwed with him somehow. His sluggish thoughts went back to what Brennan had told him: about the Tomorrow People, and the powers they supposedly had. He hadn't believed her, not really.

"I hope you'll forgive me….someday…"

Not freaking likely…

"Sleep now, Agent Booth…"

The fingers on his forehead were soothing this time, but Booth wasn't about to forget the pain they'd caused him. But he was too weak to move, and his eyelids began to grow heavy…

The woman's voice followed him down into darkness, still asking for his forgiveness.

Booth awoke slowly, his head feeling heavy and swollen. It was light in his room, streaks of sun streaming in from a gap in the blinds. Damn, how long had he been out? And why was he feeling like shit warmed over?

It all came back to him in a rush. The woman with the gun. She'd done something to him, something horrible. That thought made him sit bolt upright, and he instantly regretted it when his brain began to hammer painfully against the inside of his skull. He hissed with the pain, even as he threw the sheet and blanket away from his body.

It took him a few minutes to pull on his jogging suit and FBI sweatshirt. He wanted nothing more than to find that bitch and make her pay for what she'd done to him, but at the same time there was a part of himself who pointed out that what she'd done had to have been done for a reason. She'd asked him questions, although what those questions had meant was beyond him at the moment. But she'd been looking for someone, though. Someone she'd believed Booth had done something to. He wondered who that person was had been, and why she'd thought he'd had something to do with their disappearance.

He was a bit unsteady on his feet as he made his slow way from the bedroom and into the living room. Whatever she'd done had really taken it out of him. Maybe a cup of coffee would take care of his head…

Wait a second…was that coffee he was already smelling?

Booth cursed, wishing he had his gun. Was someone in his apartment _again_? Or was he making coffee in his sleep?

And where was his gun when he needed it?

Within two more steps, he could hear murmured voices from the kitchen. Another step and he recognized Brennan's voice…and that of his attacker from last night.

"He'd be disappointed," Brennan said, her voice cold.

"I…had to know…" The woman's own voice sounded dead, as if she'd given up.

_What the fuck?_

"He's awake."

Well, sneaking up on them and listening in was now out of the bag. After what that bitch had done to him…it didn't surprise Booth that she'd know he was lurking. But what the hell was she still doing there? Shouldn't she have run?

"Coffee's ready," Brennan called out.

Damn. This was like waking up in the loony bin.

Booth couldn't honestly ignore the curiosity…or the chance for a bit of his own back from his attacker. He didn't have a clue what was going on, and it bothered him.

The first person he saw was Brennan; she was standing at the coffee pot, pouring some of the hot beverage into the mug Parker had given him for Father's Day. She glanced up, meeting his eyes; there was something in them, that for a second Booth thought was anger; but then those blue orbs smiled. "Welcome back to the land of the living," she greeted warmly, handing the mug over.

Booth took it, even as he was looking at the other person in the room. The woman looked tired, with dark circles around her eyes and a single line between her brows. Her blonde hair straggled across her shoulders in limp strands. What the hell…was she wearing pajamas?

But beyond that, Booth recognized her. She was the woman from the crime scene, the one Brennan had known. "Allison, isn't it?"

The woman couldn't meet his gaze. She simply nodded, her hands wrapped tightly around her own steaming mug.

Seeing her there did things to Booth's temper that he didn't like. She'd come into his home and had held a gun on him, while messing with his head. What the hell gave her the _right_?

"Here, Booth."

He turned to look at Brennan again. The anthropologist was holding a spacey-looking gun, all metal and functional. Booth actually shivered, realizing that was what his attacker had been holding on him last night.

"How did you get it away from her?" He took the weapon, sliding it into the waistband of his sweatpants.

"She gave it to me. She called me, Booth. Allison told me what happened."

Well, that was certainly a surprise. "What, she wanted to brag about her handiwork?"

Allison cringed, her head going down lower. "I didn't want to," she murmured. "But I had to know…"

"Know what? What the hell is going on?" Booth's voice actually went up almost an octave.

"Booth," Brennan answered, "The Lab was attacked last night."

"Yeah? And that meant she could take it out on me?" Booth was mad, but this news was just plain shitty.

"You and Dr. Brennan were the last ones there," Allison answered, finally looking up at him. "Tim and John trusted Dr. Brennan; but you were new. And someone had to have arranged the attack."

"And you just assumed it was me." Well, it did make a bit of sense.

"Yes, Agent Booth. I…I'm sorry for what I did. But I had to know…" She sighed. "I had to know if you were responsible."

Well, he wasn't about to let her off the hook, no matter her reasoning. "You couldn't just ask me?"

"You could have lied," she said simply. "Reading your mind was the best way to get to the truth."

"It was totally unconscionable," Brennan put in, her voice back to its coldness. "I would have been more than happy to vouch for Booth. There was no need to violate his mind."

"Yeah," Booth replied. "What she said."

"It's too important," Allison persevered. "Time is totally screwed up. Now, Tim is incapacitated and I can't fix him, and Greg…" She spluttered to a halt, swallowing.

"What about Greg?" Booth asked, even though he suspected he knew what she was going to say.

Allison sighed. "Whoever attacked the Lab, took him. He's gone, and I don't know where he is."

 

* * *

 

Allison held the warm cup of coffee in both hands, feeling more miserable than she had in her entire life.

She glanced up at Agent Booth; he seemed to be mulling her words, looking a little less pissed off than he had when he'd entered the kitchen. She certainly couldn't blame him for it; Dr. Brennan had been right, when she'd condemned what Allison had done to him. John would have be absolutely appalled at her behavior; while it wasn't a hard and fast rule, it was considered telepathic etiquette not to invade someone's mind like she'd done. Even though she'd had the best of reasons at the time.

She'd been in shock, of course. Once Allison had made her way back to the Lab – Tim had only jaunted her about a mile away, but making her way through the abandoned Tube station where the Lab was hidden had been a nightmare in bare feet – she'd been knocked to her knees by the devastation. Tim's housing had been blasted, and only one of his four hemispheres had survived, and it was glowing fitfully in the gloom of the emergency lighting. Allison had tried to talk to him, both vocally and telepathically, but he'd been unable to answer. Only mournful beeping sounds came from the biotronic supercomputer, and none of it was even vaguely comprehensible.

Everything had been completely wrecked. The sofa was a melted pile on the charred carpet. The scan table didn't exist any more. The link table was knocked over on its side, black carbonized streaks testifying to the weapons' fire it had taken. And the presence of Greg's cane, broken into three pieces near the makeshift barricade, told her that that was where he'd take cover from the intruder's attack.

The chess board, with its pieces scattered all over the floor, testified at the surprise the attack had been. The white King had been crushed into little pieces.

Allison had wondered if this was some sort of omen. If she believed in omens…

She'd sat there, her back against the broken link table, and cried. She wasn't sure what she was crying about: for Tim, definitely; and for Greg, because although he was an asshole that didn't mean he deserved whatever was going to happen to him.

And she had no doubt that whoever had attacked the Lab was involved with the time disruption. Because who else would want to have grabbed Greg, when no one knew of his existence at all?

That thought had led her to consider just who would have known about him, and about the Lab. It would have had to have been discovered recently, or else whoever it was would've attacked sooner.

In her mind, there'd been only one person to fit that bill.

Allison had had to calculate the jaunting coordinates herself, with the help from Tim's manual interface…just a fancy name for a keyboard and monitor straight from a PC. It had taken hours to do it, since it'd been something she'd learned when she was thirteen, and hadn't ever had to use, but eventually she'd managed to discover where Seeley Booth lived and how to jaunt there. She'd also had to route some power to her jaunting belt; while a Tomorrow Person could jaunt on their own, for long distances they'd always needed a boost from Tim. Allison had had no other way of getting back to the States, other than somehow contacting Alex and have him send his personal jet for her. Which, of course, was something she hadn't wanted to do.

She'd really wanted to confront Agent Booth.

As she'd sat there, wrestling with the coordinates, it had occurred to her that if Booth was the one who'd betrayed them, then he wouldn't be about to tell the truth. It also occurred to her to ask Dr. Brennan, but would the anthropologist necessarily know? Booth could have had her completely fooled…

And so, Allison had found herself outside Agent Booth's apartment. It had taken no trouble at all to telekinetically pick the lock on the front door, and gain entrance.

And she'd attacked him, and plundered his mind for information that hadn't been there.

Allison was disgusted with herself. She'd called Dr. Brennan at once, out of fear that she might have damaged Booth's mind with her heavy-handed digging. She'd also needed to confess what she'd done.

"Seems to me," Booth finally said, "that someone else must know about the Lab."

"There isn't anyone else," Allison denied. "You'd been there. You being the betrayer made perfect sense…at the time."

"Yeah, I get that." He sounded testy. Allison couldn't blame him. "But someone else had to have found out. Because why take Greg if they didn't know what he was? Not that I'm buying all this temporal paradox shit…"

She'd gotten that from his thoughts. In fact, Allison had gotten more from him than she'd anticipated, and could probably boast at knowing Seeley Booth better then he knew himself. Not that she'd boast about that. She was mortified by that knowledge, really.

"Just who knows about it currently? Dr. Brennan asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Allison looked between the two. She'd seen in Booth's mind just what he felt for the anthropologist, and it was now obvious in the way he stood next to her, leaning slightly toward her and just edging into her personal space.

And even though she hadn't looked into Dr. Brennan's mind, Allison could tell that there were feelings on her end, as well. It was also in the way she stood, but she was tensed as if ready to protect him if Allison decided to do something else. She stifled a sigh. Even with the best of intentions she'd manage to cock everything up.

She considered the question. "Well…you two…me, Greg of course…that's about it, really. All the others who would know are offworld right now."

Booth didn't look like he was buying the whole "offworld" comment. "So, no one else knows? Think about it carefully, because it could be anyone, even someone you would never expect."

"And I'm telling you…" Allison's ire at the repeat of the question faded, as she realized something important. "Alex."

"And who is Alex?" Brennan asked.

No, Allison didn't want to tell them who Alex was. Because she didn't believe for a moment that he'd had anything to do with what had happened.

"No one," she answered firmly. "He's not the one we're looking for."

"But he knew. You told him." Booth didn't phrase it as a question.

"He's not involved in this."

"Yet you told him."

"Of course I did! You wouldn't hide anything from your fiancé, would you?" she shot back, suddenly angry again. "He had to know who he was marrying!"

Brennan and Booth glanced at each other. Something passed between them; even though Allison knew neither of them was telepathic they seemed to have an unspoken conversation in that single look.

"Allison," Brennan answered, "we're not saying that this Alex is involved. But perhaps someone was able to get the information out of him in some way? Have you considered that?"

No, she hadn't. And she let them know that she hadn't. But it suddenly made her terrified for Alex; had something happened to him?

"Can I use someone's phone?" she asked urgently.

Brennan silently handed over her cell phone. With trembling fingers Allison dialed Alex's number.

Two interminable rings later, the call was answered. "Hello?"

"Alex, it's Allison." The relief she felt at hearing his voice was palpable.

"Hey, Allie. Sorry, I didn't recognize the number you're calling from. You don't have your cell on you?"

"No…I left my place in a rush. Alex…are you all right? You haven't been…approached…by anyone, have you?"

"Unless you count a couple of different charities looking for money." He went serious. "What's going on?"

Allison opened her mouth to tell him, but closed it again. She didn't want him any more involved than he already was. "Just checking on you, to see if you're all right," she answered, keeping her voice light.

"That's nice." She could tell he wasn't quite buying it. "You going to be up to going to the theatre tomorrow? We do have those tickets for "Spam-a-lot."

"I can't wait." It would be hell to sit there and watch some weird musical, but for him she'd do it.

Even if the world ended around them.

"Love you, Allie. Be careful, okay?"

"I will be. Love you too."

Allison hung up, handing the phone back to Dr. Brennan. "Thanks."

"So nothing was wrong then?" Booth asked.

"Not a thing. It was business as usual."

"What will you do now?" Brennan asked.

Allison sighed. "Go home. Try to figure out my next move. Try to figure out how that bastard found out about the Lab."

"And what about Greg?" Brennan wanted to know.

"I…don't know. I think we have to accept that he might end up as another victim of the Incinerator Killer…"

 

* * *

 

"You have done well."

It stood there, listening to its master's praise. It would have been basking, if that were in its nature.

"You have put him in the vault?"

It nodded in affirmation.

"Very good indeed. Although how he managed to escape your blade is a mystery."

It twitched at the implied rebuke. It had no idea what had happened. It knew it had dispatched the boy…how long ago? The passage of Time confused it. It had not been constructed to think in that way. It did have a sense of past and future, and knew that it had been sent to the past to kill the young one.

It could vividly remember the kill, could still feel – in its own way – the warmth of the blood as it had spilled over its steel-hard fingers. It could remember the heat of the burning funeral pyre.

"A genuine paradox. This is beyond my wildest imaginings."

It wasn't programmed for imagining. Only the master could do that. So the comment was beyond its knowledge, like so many of the master's comments were.

"In all my plans, I never considered this. It's absolutely fascinating. I shall take great pleasure in discovering just how deeply this paradox goes."

It twitched again, wondering when it would be able to kill this one, as it had done before.

"No. You cannot kill this one. He is mine. I shall see to him."

It would have felt disappointment if it was capable of it.

"My own son is a paradox, but not one such as this."

It simply stood there, waiting for orders. The master often spoke aloud to it, and it knew that it was not meant to understand nor reply.

"I shall gain much from this Gregory House…"

It was perhaps a good thing that it did not know boredom.

"Ah, my servant. I have completely ignored you."

It twitched again. The master was speaking to it now, and it hung on every word.

"I do have something for you to do, another target you may…play with."

It was gratified at that.

"I know you are. You are a good and trusted servant, and I shall always take care of you. You know that, don't you?"

It did know that.

"Then do not concern yourself with being without duties."

It stood up a little straighter, ready for its orders.

"Here is what I want you to do…"

 

* * *

 

House didn't have any idea where he was.

It was dark and dank; the dampness in the air making his bad leg ache even more than usual. Water was dripping from somewhere, making a strange metallic plinking noise as it struck whatever it was hitting. It was a lonely, plaintive sound, and it made House's teeth hurt to hear it.

The brick against his back was cold. He wondered how long he would have to wait before whoever it was in charge decided to do whatever it was they were going to do to him. House wasn't afraid; far from it. He just wished they'd get on with it.

"Hey, whoever you are!" he called out, boredom eating at him, "Least you could do is come in and tell me your dastardly plan before you kill me!"

It was saying something about his mental state that House was actually getting used to being held prisoner. It'd happened fairly frequently since Cameron had admitted her secret life to him. He wondered if the other Tomorrow People had become as used to it as he had; although, they'd just have been able to jaunt away from any cell they were put into, unless it was shielded or something.

The boredom was getting to him. House leaned his head against the hard wall, closing his eyes. The attack on the Lab had been a complete surprise. He'd actually broken down and had asked Tim for a game of chess – it wasn't his Tim, but he could stand to play chess with him, couldn't he? Tim had agreed, and the pair had settled in for a nice, peaceful game…that was, until the weirdo in the duster and hood had shown up. And House had been taking cover behind the toppled over link table. He wasn't exactly sure how that had happened, but behind it was the best he could manage.

House knew that the Lab was shielded and protected against outside attack, so the sudden appearance of a laser-wielding nutjob had stunned both House and the supercomputer. And by the time he should have been reacting, all House could do was cower. Not at all good for the ego, was cowering.

Then Allison had arrived.

He hadn't been able to see her, but he heard her just fine. And he had a ringside seat as her stun gun failed to take down the intruder.

At that point House had known they were lost. That nothing any of them could do would stop what he'd figured out was the actual Incinerator Killer. The guy had shrugged off a stun bolt that would've put any normal being flat on their backs. And, being a Tomorrow Person meant that Allison wouldn't have been able to use any other sort of force against him. Of course, things could be different in this timeline, but House doubted it. There were just certain things the TP could do, and that level of violence wasn't in them.

He certainly hoped Tim had managed to get her to safety. Even though she wasn't his Allison Cameron, the resemblance was there, and there was something about any version of Cameron getting hurt that bothered him more than a little.

This was ridiculous. And it was becoming a habit with him. Sitting there in some cell, waiting for the bad guy to come and gloat at him. Okay, well the Castalii didn't gloat all that much, but then they could turn off peoples' minds. Except for his, though. House had been left to go completely nuts bored when they'd held him. Now, Andrew Greer….he'd been a gloater. A really good one, too. House had felt really good about hitting the bastard when he got the chance.

"Hello! Anybody home?"

House growled to himself. He levered himself to his feet, to pace painfully in the confined space. The room it was in was about the size of his kitchen, and decorated less tastefully. Or maybe he should say, not decorated at all, unless you count strategic areas of wet mold. He wondered vaguely if it was toxic.

Well, it didn't really matter, did it? He probably wouldn't be alive long enough to get sick from it.

House had been so confident that the killer hadn't known about him. After all, he'd been officially dead for decades; in fact, the bastard had the best possible evidence of his death, having killed House himself. So, what had happened? What had changed to bring House back to his attention?

The pacing was doubly uncomfortable without his cane. House knew he wouldn't be getting it back anytime soon; he'd seen the intruder – the Incinerator Killer, may as well call a spade a spade, and a whackjob a whackjob – step on the seemingly sturdy wood and snap it into three rather large and interesting pieces. It had surprised him considerably, and made him wonder just what the Killer was, to weigh so much that merely stepping on the cane would cause it to break like that. It just brought home to him that he really was dealing with some sort of alien plot. Not that he'd already been convinced of that from the start. The laser gun was a dead giveaway, really. But at least the Killer wasn't some sort of human who'd gotten hold of something he shouldn't have.

Been there; done that. Didn't have the t-shirt but that was only because no one wanted to advertise the fact that a large corporation had gotten ahold of alien tech and had passed their discoveries from their reverse engineering of it off as their own intellectual property.

House managed to find a less damp and moldy bit of wall, and slid down it until his ass hit the hard floor. Pacing wasn't getting him anywhere, so he may as well have a seat again.

He played with the idea of shouting at his invisible captor once more, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. That was the problem with utter boredom; once it hit, House didn't feel like doing shit.

But his mind was still working. It was trying to figure out just how the Killer had found him. House knew for a fact that Tim kept the Lab tightly shielded against scans of any kind. So the maniac wouldn't have been able to tell he was there at all, no matter what way he used to track him. That only led to one conclusion:

Someone had ratted House out.

He ran his fingers through his hair, as if some of his brain cells would come loose with the movement. To his mind, there wasn't anyone who would benefit from getting him out of the way, unless someone close to the action was working with the Killer.

Which didn't really make a lot of sense.

Only four people knew about his presence: Tim; Allison; that sexy anthropologist; and the idiot Fed. House was absolutely certain of the first two; Tim couldn't betray anyone under his "protection" if he tried, and Allison…well, maybe House's perceptions were colored by his past with his Cameron, but he just couldn't see it. Working with the bad guy meant that she'd have at least come close to murder, and House knew that, as a Tomorrow Person – albeit a lapsed one – she wouldn't have been able to condone such actions. So yeah, Allison was out.

As for the other two…well, Tim had trusted Dr. Brennan – and what kind of first name was Temperance, anyway? – and that was good enough for House. Booth was another matter, but House didn't honestly think the guy had the brains to betray anyone. Besides, there were two other reasons to trust him: the first, was the fact that he obviously hadn't believed the story of how House had gotten there; and secondly, he was the investigating agent on the case and apparently wanted to catch the Killer. Unless Booth was a much better actor than House gave him credit for, then he wasn't involved with House's kidnapping.

There was a piece of the puzzle missing. A honking large piece, too.

No matter how he rearranged what he knew, House just couldn't come up with any idea of who would want to set him up. He tried plugging the Time Guardians into the equation, but they wanted things fixed as badly as House himself did. Besides, all they were, were trumped-up Tomorrow People, so sending him to his death was out of the question.

His head was beginning to hurt.

"Why don't you do what you're going to do?" House aimed his shout toward the ceiling. "If you keep this up, you won't have to kill me…I'll die of boredom!"

"I don't intend on killing you."

_Bingo._

House glanced in the direction of the voice. A man stood just beside House, where previously there hadn't been anyone. He looked to be in his twenties, with blond hair that curled around the collar of his neat gray suit. Dark eyes were aimed in House's direction, examining him closely. Damn, he looked human. Why couldn't the threat have looked more alien?

"Well," House drawled, returning the man's gaze. "It seems someone's been pulling that whackjob's strings." In a way, House was relieved. There'd been something about the Killer, something fundamentally wrong. And it didn't have anything to do with the unnatural weight thing, either.

The man smiled slightly. "Oh yes. My servant has no real free will, and as such needs direction."

House raised an eyebrow. The man spoke almost archaically, like something from a costume drama. "And just who are you supposed to be?"

The smile got a little deeper. "You may call me…Chronos."

House flatly refused to roll his eyes. "The Greek God of Time. How appropriate." He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice though.

"I see you're up on your mythology," Chronos answered. "Most people confuse me with Cronus, the Titan."

"So, basically…you're saying you're a God, then."

"I simply said to call me Chronos. Although it is a pleasant surprise that you recognize my divinity."

Dealing with a fruitcake then…"All right…Chronos. If you aren't going to kill me, then just what the hell did you have planned?"

The would-be deity laughed. "You are a paradox. I am not at all certain how you were created, but I cannot pass up the chance to study such an unusual specimen." He took a step forward. "I can smell it on you; the time stream trying to make sense of your presence here. The aura of chaos is quite refreshing, I must admit."

House got back to his feet, not wanting to be at any more of a disadvantage than he was already. "If you're a God, shouldn't you be all-seeing?" he challenged.

"With the timelines in total flux, there is much I can no longer see." The bastard had the balls to look condescending.

"And just what was the point in screwing up time?" House had to swallow the retort he really wanted to make, since he wanted to know more about what was going on even more than pissing off his "host."

"Simply because I can." Chronos apparently didn't believe in the term "personal space," because he got up into House's big-time. "I am the God of Time. I may do whatever I desire."

House could feel the fury building. Before he could curb his tongue, he hissed, "How dare you, you smug, self-important asshole. How dare you think you have the right to judge who lives and who dies?" He was so close to Chronos, he could feel the man's breath on his cheek.

Chronos looked amused. "Dr. House, I have every right. Time is mine to do with as I wish."

"And what about the Time Guardians?" House countered. "Apparently _they_ don't think you have the right to screw things up."

What was that flicker in those pale eyes?

"Is the almighty Chronos afraid?" House jeered. "Is that why you send your "servant" out, instead of doing your own dirty work? Are you afraid they'll catch you?" Somehow he knew he was right, that whoever-this-really-was didn't want to have a damned thing to do with the Time Guardians.

Chronos took a step back, out of House's personal space. "I fear no one!" he practically shouted.

It was House's turn to smile. "Oh really?" he countered. "Well, I think you're a coward. You mess with time, but you have your weird lackey do it for you. You hide behind the scenes, just waiting to see what happens next. If you were a truly all-powerful God, you'd be out trumpeting your presence to everyone. And yet, here you are…cowering behind that _thing_ you call a servant. Oh, no…you're not afraid. You're fucking terrified!"

House was thrilled to see his captor take another step back, his face grow red with rage. "You have no right to speak to me like that, little man. I am ancient and terrible, and no one can stop me in my task. Not you, and not those passive, weakling Time Guardians. I am Chronos, and you are mine to do with as I see fit!"

This man was insane. It was perfectly obvious to House that he was ranting, that he was no more a god than House himself was. The thing was…what was he? He could mess with time, but was it a natural gift, or was some sort of technology involved? "No one owns me," he answered quietly, his eyes narrowing. "You might have me trapped here now, but I'm not yours. And you _cannot_ do what you please with me. Get over that right now."

"You truly believe that, do you not?" Chronos sneered. "You believe that rescue will come. It will not, Dr. House. You are here for as long as I wish it. No one can save you; not the police, or the Tomorrow People, or those precious Time Guardians you seem to think so highly of. No one is coming for you. You are mine."

"If you say so." House put as much snark into his voice as he could, as his hand dipped into his jeans pocket. Yes, it was still there, he hadn't been searched when the so-called servant had grabbed him from the Lab…"But see, I know something you don't…"

"You? A pitiful weak human?" Now the bastard was being smug. "I very much doubt you know much of anything."

"Well, except for how I managed to survive my death…and this…" House brought his hand from his pocket, his fist clenched tightly.

Chronos looked bored. "This is some sort of pitiful trick – "

"No trick. Just my "Get out of Jail Free" card." House opened his hand…

To reveal the time disc Peter had given him.

If Chronos had been afraid before, it was nothing compared to the terror that bloomed in his eyes. He thrust out his hand, looking as if he was trying to cast some sort of spell…

But House didn't give him the chance to try anything. He concentrated his mind on the disc, just as Peter had taught him.

And suddenly the strange wrenching sensation of being pulled out of time overcame him, and House was gone.

 

* * *

 

They drove in silence.

Booth gripped the wheel, taking surreptitious glances at his partner as the unfamiliar traffic allowed. Brennan sat in the passenger seat, her pretty face looking pensive. He wondered what she was thinking about.

They'd arrived at O'Hare that Saturday afternoon, and were now in a rental sedan heading toward Rockford, Illinois. It had been dead simple to trace the number that Allison had called from Brennan's cell phone; it was the person it had gone to that had surprised both of them.

Booth was familiar with Alexander MacLean because the guy was wealthy out the ass, and had shown up on several magazine covers touting him either in the Forbes 500 or the Sexiest Man Alive…not that either interested him, of course, but there were enough warm-blooded females at the Bureau to make him well aware of the guy.

Bones, though…she'd claimed to have actually met MacLean, at a fundraiser at the Jeffersonian. She said she'd been impressed with him. Which would normally carry a lot of weight with Booth, but his gut was telling him otherwise.

They'd gotten a flight out from Washington, to follow Booth's gut. They'd had to pay for it themselves; there was no way either one could justify a plane ticket to Chicago, not without evidence that MacLean was involved in any way. Even if their evidence hadn't been destroyed with the Lab – something that pissed Booth off to no end – they still didn't have probable cause to hop a plane to Illinois to harass the guy.

He could tell that Bones wasn't happy with him, and the only reason she'd come along was to keep Booth on tight rein. But she couldn't deny that he had to be checked out, if just because of his association with Allison.

The traffic on I-90 was busy, even for a late Saturday afternoon. Booth tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, wanting to break the silence but not exactly sure what to say. He'd already made his opinion known, that Alexander MacLean was in this up to his manscaped eyebrows, but that had just made Brennan look at him like he was crazy. Well, maybe that had been about the "manscape" comment…

"Our exit is just ahead."

Booth about jumped. He'd just been thinking about saying something, and there Brennan goes and does it. He glanced at the side of the road; they were just passing the "Rockford: Next Exit" sign. He stifled a sigh. "Look, Bones…I know you don't agree with this – "

"It's not that," she answered. "I understand that Alexander MacLean may be involved. But you have to acknowledge that he might not be. Relying on emotionalism isn't the way to solve this case." She paused. "Although your "gut" does have a high reliability quotient."

He wanted to crow at that confession on her part, but refrained. "Well, yeah…of course I could be wrong," he admitted. "But it makes sense that this guy's involved, doesn't it? Besides us, he knew about the Lab – "

"Then why didn't he attack it before?"

"Maybe because he didn't have a reason? C'mon, Bones…this guy Greg shows up and the Lab is attacked. Two plus two does sometimes equal four, you know."

Brennan shrugged. "I would say that two plus two always equals four, Booth…but there are also other ways to reach four without adding those two particular numbers together."

Booth aimed the car toward their exit. "And sometimes a spade is a spade."

"I don't see why a tool used to remove dirt from a hole has anything to do with this case…"

"I meant…never mind." He let it slide as he flipped coins into the toll booth. Sometimes Brennan's grasp on colloquialisms was so sad.

Rockford was a fairly large city about an hour outside of Chicago. It looked affluent, and it didn't surprise Booth that someone of MacLean's tax bracket lived there. He maneuvered their rental through the traffic, past several restaurants and strip malls and farther into town. As they drove, the shopping areas thinned out, replaced by residential streets lined with trees. Booth followed the map he'd printed out until they came to a neighborhood far ritzier than they'd previously seen; large, multistory homes lined the street, most of them looking as if they'd been built around the turn of the nineteenth century. Brick of various colors peered out from what would be well manicured lawns and trees pruned within an inch of their leafy lives once spring hit.

They found Alexander MacLean's home on a secluded cul-de-sac; it was a pale stone affair, three stories with what looked like a medieval tower at one corner. A covered entrance was at the front, and large windows looked out over an expansive front yard. The driveway curved around to the back, where Booth guessed the garage was.

He pulled the car up at the curb. "Nice place," he commented. "Bet it cost more than I'll make in my lifetime."

Brennan didn't answer. Instead, she said, "Now that we're here, just what is the plan?"

There was the snag. Booth had one, but wasn't sure his partner would approve.

Something in his face must have tipped her off, because Bones' eyes narrowed. "Are you thinking we should be breaking in?"

"I was thinking about it, yes…" He had to own up to it.

"And is committing burglary something they taught you at the Academy? Especially since Alexander McLean is innocent until proven otherwise?"

"You're the one who's fond of saying just how far out of the box this whole situation is. If you ask me, desperate times call for desperate actions." Okay, using clichés wasn't going to win her over. "I'm just saying, it's probably the only way we're going to get an uninterrupted look around the place."

"And I suppose the possibility of alarms occurred to you?" Now she was putting on her best "why do I put up with him?" voice.

"Geez, Bones…give me a little credit! Guy like that's gonna have security out the ass!" Yes, Booth had thought about it, but he just didn't quite have a plan to deal with it yet.

"Then what – look, there he is."

He glanced in the direction Brennan indicated. A late model Mercedes was coming around the back of the house, traveling slowly down the driveway. Booth quickly hunched down, and was glad that Bones decided to do the same thing. The last thing they needed was to be spotted. At least their rental car blended fairly well into the neighborhood…

The Mercedes turned out into the cul-de-sac, then accelerated down the road. Booth watched it from behind the dashboard as it sailed past like some majestic ship at sea. A stab of envy hit him. Must be nice to be so weathly.

Booth was so focussed on the car that he didn't notice how they were crouched until it was past. He was lying on top of Brennan, his body pressing hers into the seat. Her scent was in his nose, and he barely resisted the urge to inhale deeply. This was…incredibly awkward.

He quickly sat up. Brennan did the same, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Booth took a deep breath to clear his head, then said, "Well, the coast is clear now."

"You still haven't answered me about your plan to get around any sort of security," she pointed out, looking at him closely.

"I think my friend here can take care of that for you."

Booth's mouth had been opened to reply, but it fell all the way when the voice from the back seat interrupted him. He twisted in his seat, reaching for his gun…

And saw a familiar face staring back at him over the barrel of the weapon.

"You gonna shoot me, cowboy?" Greg House said sarcastically, one eyebrow raised.

"Shit!" the agent swore, lowering his gun.

"I'm glad to see you're all right," Brennan said, sounding not at all surprised. "Allison will be as well."

"Thanks, beautiful," the man answered, leering at her. "Good to know someone worried about me."

"Of course we were concerned. You are an important link in the case we're attempting to solve."

"And here I thought it was for my devastating charm…"

"Where the hell did you come from?" Booth demanded, sliding the gun back into its holster.

"You wouldn't believe me," the man answered breezily. "Oh, you should meet Peter…Peter, this is Special Agent Booth, and the hot lady is Dr. Brennan."

The young man Greg wsa introducing looked to be in his twenties, with blond hair and pale skin. He was wearing something out of a bad space opera; a blue frilly shirt and matching pants that Booth could have sworn were some sort of vinyl. Peter inclined his head at the introduction, almost like he was some sort of royalty. "It is a pleasure to meet you both."

"And who are you?" Booth asked, managing to sound pissed off despite every attempt to be civil.

"I am one of the Time Guardians," Peter answered simply.

"Of course you are." Booth glanced at Brennan…and was surprised by what he saw.

Bones' face was awestruck, like she'd just found the Holy Grail or something. She caught him looking at her, and tried to school her features to her usual intenseness. "There are legends throughout recorded history of Guardians of Time. They're even worshiped as gods in some societies."

Peter flinched at that. "Being worshiped has never been our intention…"

Booth had guessed a while back that he'd somehow stepped into the Twilight Zone, and this was even more proof. "Oooo…kay…so, will someone care to explain to me how you got here then?"

Greg shrugged, then held up his hand. Between his thumb and index finger he held a strange looking disc, colors flickering across it as if the metal was somehow oily. "Villainy Rule Number One: search the pockets of the person you've kidnapped. They might have a handy-dandy time disc on them somewhere…"

 

* * *

 

"Where is my son?"

The Master was in a towering rage. It cringed at the tone of the Master's voice. It didn't know where the young Master was; it had just gotten back from the errand the Master had sent it on.

"Do not fret. I am not angry at you…although perhaps I should be."

That comment confused it. Why would the Master be angry at it? Hadn't it done everything it had been directed to do?

"Yes, you have…however I should not expect you to think outside the box, as it were."

It didn't understand the reference.

"Of course you don't. And I cannot blame you for something I did not program you for. Although it would have been useful if you'd thought for yourself to search our prisoner."

No, it hadn't thought of that…but then, it was unusual for the Master to want a prisoner brought to him intact, as it were.

"Yes, this is my fault. Be at peace…you are a good and loyal slave."

If it had been programmed with pride, it would have been feeling that emotion at that moment.

"Now, I must find my son…"

It wished it knew how to help the Master.

"That is fine. I know you want nothing more than to serve me. I must find the boy myself."

It bowed in acknowledgement.

"And you took care of my instructions?"

It bowed again.

"And I assume you have had your fun?"

It cocked its head in confusion, not certain what the Master meant by that.

"Of course…I didn't program you to have fun. No matter. You have done as directed. Satisfactory."

It bowed once more, this time lower, knowing that the Master was pleased with it.

"I do need you to do something else for me…"

 

* * *

 

"That structure is rife with temporal energy."

Peter was squinting at the house they were currently sitting out in front of. House wondered vaguely if anyone really used the word "rife" anymore.

House had managed to trigger the time disc, and – after a gut-wrenching trip through the time vortex – had arrived back on the Guardian's base somewhat worse for wear. Peter had been there to meet him; he'd listened to House's report intently, then had promptly called a meeting of all the other Time Guardians in the area.

That had been fun. Especially when Peter had confessed that they knew exactly who this "Chronos" bozo was.

Booth had a sour look on his face. The man was so obviously out of his depth, or else House was becoming way too jaded about all this shit. "How'd you find this place?" House asked.

The Feb grimaced. "We traced a call Allison made on her cell phone. Apparently this is her fiancé's house."

House's heart did something really odd, and he couldn't decide whether it was out of some sort of long-dead empathy or if he was really glad that this Allison's boyfriend had turned out to be involved. "Well, that's the place they held me in. Some guy calling himself Chronos. Although, unless Allison's got horrible taste, I don't think it was her soon-to-be ex."

"Alexander MacLean is quite a handsome man," Brennan answered, still looking somewhat surprised by Peter's existence.

"Yeah, I didn't think it was the taste thing."

"Just what are we facing here?" Booth demanded. "What the hell is going on?"

And now he was going to have to explain again. House stifled a sigh, then told them everything about his captivity, including the name that crazy bastard had called himself. He finished with his using the time disc, knowing that Peter would most likely tell the other two what he wanted them to know.

"So you know this Chronos guy," Booth said, turning to Peter after House was finished. "C'mon…spill."

Peter looked confused. "Spill what? I'm not holding anything that could possibly be spilled…"

"He means," Brennan answered, glancing at her partner, "that you should tell us what you know."

"Then why did he not say so?"

"Because…it's his way."

Booth rolled his eyes at his partner's response.

"I see." Peter paused. "No, I don't. However, it doesn't matter. I shall tell you what I know of Chronos, and you will know just how dangerous he is."

House leaned back in his seat, having heard the story before. He really wanted to see the Fed's and the Doctor's reactions to it, although he could probably imagine what it would be.

"We Time Guardians – _Homo Superior Temporum_ – are the descendants of the Tomorrow People – _Homo Superior_ ," Peter began. "However, evolution can sometimes take blind paths to dead end mutations. As the Time Guardians were just beginning to emerge, another race branched off from ours – called _Homo Superior Paradoxiem_. They, too, were sensitive to time, as we are…however, instead of recognizing the order of time, this other race reveled in the chaos of the paradox."

"Is that what we're dealing with here?" Brennan asked. "Beings who create paradoxes?"

"Indeed, Dr. Brennan," Peter answered, smiling. "Dr. House said you were more intelligent than most _Homo Sapiens_."

"He's right, I am."

House grinned. No, no false modesty there at all. She almost reminded him of…him.

"The Randomers, is what we call them," Peter went on. "They travel the time lines, and randomly change small parts of history, in order to create a paradox."

"But this isn't doesn't seem like a random changes," Brennan argued. "Do these Randomers have a plan?"

"It's just one," House finally answered. "This Chronos jerk. He has help, from some sort of mechanical servant, but it's just him."

"We do not know his exact plan," Peter admitted. "However we can assume it's to cause as much havoc as he can, no matter the cost."

"Wait," Booth cut in, "are you saying this Chronos is the Incinerator Killer?"

"No," Peter answered. "He cannot kill, any more than I myself can."

"The robot thingy is the Killer," House said. "Chronos might not be able to kill, but he can send his little tin man out to do his dirty work for him. Plus, he's a coward."

"But what about Alexander MacLean?" Brennan wanted to know. "Where does he fit into this?"

"That, we do not know," the Time Guardian admitted. "All we do know is that Dr. House was held in that house, before he escaped using the time disc he'd been given."

That bothered House as well. That Allison's fiancé was somehow involved with Chronos and his creepy servant. And while he had this insane urge to laugh at the coincidence…no, wait. It couldn't be a coincidence.

"I think we're missing something," he spoke out loud.

That got all of them looking at him. And House always did like the attention.

"I'm willing to bet that this Alex chose Allison specifically…that he knew she was a Tomorrow Person."

Realization bloomed across Booth's face. "And he's the one who told Chronos where you were." Something flickered in his eyes, something that House thought might have been pain.

"Yeah, Allison probably mentioned it during pillow talk or something." That sounded a tad more spiteful than was warranted, but House didn't care.

"I seriously doubt that Allison would speak about you during the post-coital period – "

"Bones, that wasn't what he meant," Booth corrected her gently.

"Then why did he just say – "

"Did anyone ever tell you, you're way too literal?" House snapped.

"Well, there's no need to get snippy about it…"

"Bones!" Booth looked at her pointedly, and she snorted, crossing her arms across her chest.

"We should reconnoiter the house," Peter suggested, looking at all three as if expecting them to start up once more. "That way we may determine just how this Alexander MacLean is connected with Chronos."

"I do wonder one thing," Booth mused. "You said these Randomers usually change small things to create paradoxes, right?"

"I did, yes."

"Then just what is Chronos up to? Apparently he's creating super massive paradoxes…why?"

Peter frowned. "That is a valid question, Agent Booth. The paradoxes he is creating are causing the entire fabric of space/time to unravel. If another one happens while I'm here…I could very well vanish myself, and no one would know I even existed. As for Dr. House…he is the ultimate paradox, being dead and yet alive. It is something that the continuum cannot abide, and is constantly trying to reconcile."

"And I didn't do anything for it to not like me, either," House mock pouted. "But isn't it obvious? Chronos thinks he's some sort of god, so he can do whatever he wants. I think he gets a high off it, personally." He remembered how Chronos had been practically sniffing him.

"Like some sort of drug addict," Booth supposed.

"Like, that, yeah." That notion made House want to reach for his Vicodin, but he had no real idea how long he'd be traipsing about this alternate timeline and was running low. At least Peter and his friends had managed to find a replacement cane for him.

"It is possible, I suppose," Peter answered slowly. "Creating the paradoxes would stimulate the Randomer's brain, so yes…I could see where that would be a valid supposition."

"He was definitely interested in keeping me around," House said. "I must have been like the best fix in the universe to him."

"That is an apt analogy, Dr. House. Now, perhaps we should investigate the house, before its owner returns?"

All four got out of the vehicle. "The place is bound to be alarmed," Booth said as they walked up the driveway.

"I shall handle that," Peter said.

"Why did I know you were going to say that?"

Peter looked at him. "I don't know…why did you?"

The agent sighed. "Never mind. Let's just get this show on the road."

House had been certain Peter might comment about that as well, but the Time Guardian kept silent as they circled around the back of the large house. This MacLean guy must have been worth millions, he thought as they approached the back door. The place was practically a castle, with well-manicured grounds and kidney-shaped pool with its own water fountain…which was currently off with it being winter and all.

Peter made short work of the locks and alarm system, using his telekinesis. Seeing such a demonstration of power never ceased to amaze House, no matter how many times he'd witnessed it. He may have been jaded about a lot of things, but never that.

It made him miss his own timeline even more. House was determined to get it all back, and to do that they'd have to get this bastard Chronos and fix the damage done. If that were possible.

The interior of the house was just has palatial as the outside. The quartet found themselves in the kitchen, a large tile and chrome room with all the best amenities.

"The taint of the paradox is much stronger, now that we're inside," Peter reported, his pale eyes narrowing.

"Can you trace it?" Booth asked quietly. He had his gun drawn, held in both hands and pointed toward the ground.

"I believe I can…"

"I was being held somewhere dark and dank," House added. "By the looks of this place, it could've been a dungeon."

"Yes, the strongest emanations are coming from below us," the Time Guardian confirmed.

"Then…it's the basement." Booth took the lead, as they searched for the access to the home's basement.

Brennan found it, after a few minutes searching. It was a non-descript door, just off the laundry room, and once opened it led down some darkened stairs.

Booth took point, his weapon aimed down into the darkness. "I'm going to go and check it out. The rest of you stay up here."

"Not likely," House sorted. "Been down there before, remember?"

"I'm certainly not staying," Brennan added.

"And you may need me, Agent Booth," Peter said. "There could be temporal traps down there that I may be able to sense."

Booth let out a long suffering sigh. "Then you all just stay behind me, okay?"

He took the steps down, and the rest followed him. House was getting edgy, even though he'd been down there in the basement earlier. He honestly didn't think they'd find Chronos there; after all, if he had to judge he would've said the would-be "god" would have high-tailed it out of there once House had escaped. There had been that look in Chronos's eyes, the one that House had sworn had been fear.

Chronos was afraid of the Time Guardians. Of that, House had no doubt.

Booth flipped on the lights as soon as they all descended. In that brightness was revealed a finished basement, complete with pool table and wet bar. There was no sign of the dungeon-like area that House had been held in.

"Looks like a typical rich guy's basement to me," the Fed commented. But he didn't holster his gun.

Peter had a pinched look on his pale face. "There…is much disturbance here," he murmured. "The place is not what it seems."

"Why does this not surprise me?" Booth muttered. "Whatcha sensing, Edgar Cayce?"

"I don't know what that means," Brennan said.

Apparently, Peter did understand the reference to the infamous psychic, because he said, "I…believe this is some sort of illusion. We are meant to see this room as normal, when it is not."

"So…get out you magic wand and dispel the illusion!"

"I…cannot, Agent Booth. It is not within my power."

"So…what can you tell us?" House asked, trying to keep his own irritation in check.

Peter cast about the room, his fingers twitching as if he were trying to grab something. "The paradox in this room…it's almost overwhelming. It is as if…ah. Of course. This entire room is cloaked in paradox energy. That is why I'm having difficulty penetrating its defenses."

House had to admit, the room was making his own fingers tingle. There was something about it, something he couldn't figure out…oh, he was being stupid. "I'm a paradox, right?"

"That is correct…ah, I see what you're suggesting. It might work."

"Mind sharing with the regular humans here?" Booth requested sharply.

"What Dr. House has in mind," Peter answered, "is to use the power of his own paradox to short circuit the energy keeping this room intact."

"Problem is," House admitted, "I don't know how to tap into it."

"I may be able to help you with that," the Guardian replied.

Once again, Peter began to move about the basement, searching for something House couldn't see. Yet, he knew what it was; the nexus of the energy that permeated the room.

Eventually, Peter stopped before what looked like an air conditioner thermostat, attached to the wall. "I believe this is what we're looking for."

"Then let's do this." House limped over to join him.

"There is something you should know, before attempting this," the Time Guardian warned. "The very energy that is keeping you here, is what you are going to be using to disrupt the paradox of this room. There is a very real danger that, in doing so, your very existence will be disrupted as well."

House swallowed. His entire mission had been to bring back his own timeline; there had been the very real chance that he wouldn't be returning to it. He thought about all those gone now: John, and Tim, and James Wilson, and those he'd known in his life, the ones he could call friends. And then there was Allison: his own Cameron, the one he cared for and fought for and wanted back with everything within him. She was out there, somewhere…and he wanted to get back to her.

And here he was. About to risk his existence to do just that.

He realized he wasn't afraid. "Tell me what to do."

Peter looked at him closely, then nodded. "Place your hand on the spot. And Dr. House…thank you."

House shrugged. "It hasn't worked yet."

"However…thank you."

The thermostat felt cold under House's fingers, but there was a strange tingle that ran along his nerves as if his hand had fallen asleep. "Now what?"

He barely got the words out, when the tingling turned into a burning that ran down his arm and into his chest. House gasped, but kept his hand firmly on the fake thermostat.

The heat grew, and his heart began to beat out of rhythm. If House hadn't already been used to pain, he would have snatched his hand away as quickly as possible.

House couldn't breathe. The heat was almost intolerable. It was a supreme act of will to keep holding on, as his heart beat even more erratically.

A sudden snap threw him backward, and House hit the floor, hard. His vision was blurring as he went into cardiac arrest…

 

* * *

 

Allison Cameron sighed, sliding down in her seat a little in order to find a more comfortable position. It wasn't that the seats were bad; it was just that she was tired and sore, and really just wanted to be at home instead of at the theater.

She glanced over at Alex; he looked incredibly handsome in his tuxedo, his eyes on the stage as the performer playing King Arthur burst into song. It was sad; Allison had so wanted to see "Spamalot" but now…she had no interest. Her mind was elsewhere.

On Tim, who was wrecked beyond her ability to repair.

On Special Agent Seeley Booth, whom she'd injured in her mistaken belief that he was somehow involved in what was going on with the time lines.

And on Gregory House…who could very well be dead for all she knew.

Everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

Allison had managed to make it home from Washington DC, but it had taken her almost a day, and a lot of blind jaunting to do it. Without Tim's help with the extra power boost and with the coordinates, Allison had had to rely on herself to make it back to Chicago. She'd been tempted to call Alex, to arrange transportation back, but a very large part of her wanted Allison to do this as a punishment for what she'd done to Agent Booth, to overstretch her own resources to the point of breaking. A penance, of sorts, even if the FBI agent wouldn't know it.

And then she'd realized the implications of Tim's being damaged: she was well and truly alone.

Of course, she'd been alone for a long time, but before John's death she hadn't noticed it. That single event had thrust her back into the Tomorrow People fold, and Allison had come to realize just how much she'd missed being with her own kind. Even with no more Tomorrow People being born, and all the established ones now living off world, Allison had still had Tim even though she hadn't spoken to him all that much. But now….he was gone. Possibly forever.

She mourned. But she didn't let Alex know.

For some reason, it didn't feel right to burden him. Or maybe Allison was just feeling uncomfortable for some reason, even though nothing about Alex had changed. Perhaps she was the one who'd changed. She just didn't know anymore.

From certainty to confusion.

Allison hated it.

Damn Greg House for coming into her nice, stable life.

Damn him for getting captured.

She tried to put her mind back on the musical, but it was no use. Not even Alex's comforting presence at her shoulder was helping. For the first time in ages Allison felt as if she should be doing _something_ …but at the same time she didn't know what she could do exactly. It was frustrating.

Allison wondered when Greg's body would turn up.

She settled once again in her seat. The movement cause Alex to glance at her. "You okay?" he whispered in her ear.

"Fine," she whispered back.

Alex went back to watching the play.

Allison felt suddenly felt completely ignored.

The frustration bubbled up within her once more. Allison took a deep breath to steady herself, letting her eyes return to the stage. But her attention wasn't on the production; she couldn't have concentrated on that if she tried. Her imagination was starting to work overtime, now that she'd thought about Greg being killed.

No one should die like the Incinerator Killer's victims did.

Her head began to pound. Allison had had a low-grade headache ever since her marathon jaunting session from Washington DC, but now it seemed to be getting worse. She would have given anything to have been able to jaunt out of there, to just go home and sleep. But she'd promised Alex she'd go, and she usually tried to keep her promises.

Allison kept herself from fidgeting once more, not wanting to draw Alex's attention. Her mind began to drift as she vaguely watched the actors on the stage. Maybe she could just rest her eyes for a moment…

" _ALLISON CAMERON!_ "

She jerked upward at the loud voice. For a split second, she thought someone in the crowded theater was yelling for her, but then she realized it was all in her head…literally.

Alex was staring at her, as was the woman sitting on the other side of her. Probably the row behind as well, but she couldn't tell.

She was too distracted by the strange voice shouting into her mind.

"Allie…you okay?" Alex asked worriedly.

" _Who are you?"_ she sent back to that voice. _"And do you have to scream at me?"_

" _I am sorry,"_ the voice said at a lower level. _"But I have need of your assistance."_

" _I ask again…who are you?"_

" _I am Peter, a Time Guardian. Please, there is no time for explanations…you need to jaunt to my location at once."_

" _I…I can't!"_ she protested. _"I'm in a crowded theater! And I don't even know where you are!"_

An image flashed into her head: a dark place, brick-walled, and the distinct sense of dampness pervaded her thoughts. _"You must come, Allison. If you do not, Greg House will die."_

Her heart did a strange flip-flop. Before she knew what she was doing, Allison was up and making her way out of the row. _"How did you find him?"_

" _That can be explained later. We need you now, Allison. Please make haste."_

The urgency in that mental voice sent Allison up the aisle and into the lobby. _"I'm not a medical doctor though…I'm a researcher! If something's medically wrong with Greg – "_

"Allie!" Alex's voice pulled her to a stop. Allison turned; her fiancé was staring at her, as if she was insane. "What the hell is going on?"

"I'm sorry, Alex," she panted, "but I really have to go."

"Go where? I don't understand – "

"I don't have time to explain – "

"This is some sort of Tomorrow Person thing, isn't it?" Alex's green eyes narrowed.

"Not now, Alex – "

"Then when, Allie?"

"I don't have time!" Allison held her hand up to forestall any more questions. "Someone's life is at stake, Alex. I have to go."

With that, she spun on her heel, and headed toward the ladies' room.

After checking the stalls were all empty, Allison concentrated on the image that Peter had sent her. _"You'll have to guide me, I don't have Tim to handle the coordinates – "_

" _Follow my mind, Allison,"_ Peter sent. _"It is not far…"_

Allison could feel Peter's mind in hers, comforting yet strange at the same time. She used that touch to trigger her jaunt…

And she found herself in the place Peter had shown her.

She barely registered her surroundings once she realized what was happening just before her: Greg House lay on the floor, where Agent Booth was doing chest compressions while Dr. Brennan was performing mouth-to-mouth. A blond man – obviously Peter, the Time Guardian – had his hands on Greg's head, his eyes closed.

Those eyes snapped open, and sharp blue orbs bored into Allison's. "We need you to help save him," he said simply.

"How?" she asked helplessly.

"Lend us your energy," Peter urged. "Greg has taken a significant charge of paradox energy, and it has done damage to his heart. We must work together to restart it."

Allison moved forward, putting her hands on Peter's hunched shoulders. She'd shared energy with another once before, and it was a simple matter to fall back onto those old lessons. Closing her eyes, she opened herself to Peter, to let the Guardian take what he needed.

And he did.

The drain was imperceptible at first, but soon Allison could literally feel the life force being pulled from her body. Allison swayed, but kept her hands firmly on Peter's shoulders, determined not to break the contact between them.

Beyond Peter's presence though, Allison thought she could feel Greg's own mind, a weak thing that fluttered like a crippled butterfly struggling to escape. She wanted to call out to him, to tell him that everything was going to be fine…

However, one thought caught her attention…it was only one word… _Allison_.

But it wasn't her…wasn't this time line's Allison Cameron that Greg was remembering. It was someone different; an image came to her, of a woman with her face, but with brunette hair, wearing a lab coat with a ubiquitous jaunting belt on underneath. She was smiling; smiling at Greg House teasingly, as if sharing a private joke.

And the feelings that came with that mental picture: Allison could sense everything that Greg House had felt for his Allison Cameron; the awe and wonder at what she could do, the pleasure of her being in his life; the loss of her to the time change and the determination to get her back at all costs.

But above all, the love. The love he had for her, and his secret fear that if he told her she'd only want to stay with him because he was "damaged". That fear was more crippling than any physical infirmity imaginable.

She was pulled back from those memories and emotions by Peter's mental voice.

" _You are doing well, Allison,"_ he said. _"Keep yourself open to me."_

" _What happened?"_ she asked through their link. _"I thought he'd been captured – "_

" _He had."_ Peter went on to explain about how Greg had escaped back to the Guardians. _"He managed to bring us back valuable information – "_

There was a sudden, strange pull on Allison, as if a part of her was being sucked into a black hole. She gasped, both mentally and out loud, and instinctively pulled away from Peter, cutting their connection. She heard a gargled cry from the Time Guardian, and he jerked back so hard he slammed into her, knocking Allison almost to her knees.

"What the - ?" she heard Agent Booth exclaim.

Allison couldn't answer, not yet. She stared at the man, and his partner, as they labored over Greg House…

"Stop," she finally was able to whisper.

Booth looked up at her. "We can still save him – "

"No," Allison denied, her voice cracking. "It's too late."

Brennan sat up. "How do you know?"

"Because…we felt him go." Allison's breath hitched. "We were…connected. We felt it…"

Hot tears stung her cheeks as Booth and Brennan stopped their life-saving procedures on what was now the corpse of Dr. Gregory House. Allison remembered it all, the emotions she'd felt in their rapport. It made her heart ache to know just what Allison Cameron had meant him him…and that she hadn't been that woman.

Allison wanted to avoid staring at that still body, so she went to check on Peter instead. He'd been closer to Greg's mind than Allison had; his death would have affected him far worse.

The Time Guardian lay on the damp concrete, but he was struggling to rise. "Are you all right?" she asked softly, trying to help him up.

"I will be, Allison. Thank you – "

"Shit!"

Both of them turned at Booth's exclamation…just in time to see the body of Greg House slowly fade away.

"He was taken by the time continuum," Peter answered without being asked. "His presence here was an aberration. Time was correcting that. One less paradox."

"All he wanted was to have his time line back," Allison whispered. "To have _her_ back."

"There will have been a large discharge of paradox energy ," Peter said, climbing to his feet with Allison's help. "Chronos will have sensed it, and may return. We must be ready."

Allison was about to ask who Chronos was, when a sudden gust of wind blew through the room. Somehow Agent Booth had his gun in hand, and was circling in place, sharp eyes on the lookout.

A pool of blackness appeared in the gloom, swirling like living shadow. A hooded figure coalesced from the black, looming huge in the dungeon-like space. Standing next to it was a young-looking man with curling blond hair, wearing a three-piece suit.

"Welcome to my home," the man said, smiling. The expression didn't reach his eyes. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

 

* * *

 

Booth was a bit surprised when the body of the man who had claimed to be a temporal paradox faded away like smoke.

That one thing finally convinced him that he was, indeed, dealing with something far beyond his knowledge and control.

There'd been that part of himself that denied what everyone had been telling him. That they were all cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs or something…and that included his partner, as much as he really wanted to trust her.

But seeing a corpse vanish like that, and then hear Peter's reasoning for it…that tipped him over the edge.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of Booth's neck stood straight up, and instinctively he reached for his gun. A blast of cold air blew through the basement, and Booth went on the defensive, his eyes looking for what had caused it.

The shadows seemed to get darker in one area, and a tall, cloaked figure appeared in the direct opposite effect from Greg House's vanishing. It was accompanied by a man with blond hair, who was dressed like something out of GQ.

"Welcome to my home," the man said. The smile he showed them gave Booth the creeps. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Booth aimed his gun at the pair. "You're both under arrest for the murders of multiple individuals – "

The man known as Chronos laughed. "I can assure you, Agent Booth…there have been many more than you know. They just haven't happened yet."

So, this guy knew who he was…not a surprise, that. Neither was the bragging about the killings. "We're going to take you in – "

"Oh, I doubt that, Agent Booth." Chronos paused. "You might want to answer your cell phone."

Booth was about to say his cell phone wasn't ringing…when it did. A part of him wanted to ignore it, so he wouldn't have to bring his attention to the two standing there so nonchalantly before him.

"You really should take that call," Chronos repeated, his smile going almost predatory.

Booth glanced at Bones; she nodded, then reached over to take the gun from him. Booth trusted her to keep an eye on these whackjobs.

He pulled out his phone, checking the caller ID before flipping it open. It was Rebecca's number.

His heart stopped.

Then he flipped the phone open. "What's wrong?" he asked, not even giving his ex the chance to say anything.

"Seeley…it's Parker," Rebecca sobbed frantically. "He was supposed to be at a friend's house, but when he didn't show up for dinner I called and he never made it…"

It was Booth's worse nightmare: that someone would take his son to get to him. He met Chronos's gaze squarely, letting the bastard see his fury. "Did you call the cops?"

"Of course I did," she answered, "but they aren't doing anything, they say it has to be twenty-four hours before I can report him missing…God, Seeley…there's that killer on the loose, what if he got my son?"

He couldn't say that was exactly what had happened. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised.

The call disconnected, he turned back to Chronos and his silent flunky. "What the hell have you done with Parker?" he demanded. He desperately wanted his gun back…but at the same time, it was probably a good thing that Brennan was holding it. Booth couldn't trust himself anywhere near any sort of weapon.

He couldn't remember the last time he was this angry. _They'd taken his son…_

"Parker's missing?" Brennan asked, her own voice shocked.

He didn't answer, just kept glaring at Chronos. The Randomer – the name that Peter had called his kind – simply looked smug.

"I would think you'd care more for your son than you would taking us into custody…even if you truly could do so," Chronos said.

"What have you done with him?" Booth demanded once more, his fists balled at his sides. He could feel the nails cutting into his palms, they were clenched so tightly.

"He's safe…for now. My servant put him somewhere out of reach, for the time being. " Chronos cocked his head toward Allison, who looked as angry as Booth felt. "Did you know that your son grows up to be one of her kind?" he asked, sounding almost friendly. "I can certainly help you stop that…"

Booth glanced at the woman…no, the Tomorrow Person, according to Brennan. She looked perfectly normal, if a bit too dressed up for this situation. But from what Bones had said, about her being a member of an advanced race of humans…and that Parker could be one as well… "My son could grow a second head for all I care," he said. "I'd still be proud of him."

Allison nodded at him, smiling slightly; but Chronos didn't look happy at Booth's reaction to his little bombshell. "You don't care that your own flesh would grow up to be a freak?"

"Parker would never be a freak," Booth answered. "He's my son. And I wouldn't want him to change. So don't try that shit with me."

"Chronos." Peter stepped forward. "In the name of the Time Guardians, I order you to cease your tampering with the time stream and to give yourself up for trial."

Chronos looked at Peter for perhaps the first time; there was something in his eyes, something that Booth almost classified as fear. "You can't stop me, Guardian," he answered, seemingly full of bravado.

But there was that fear…

Peter took another step toward Chronos. "You refuse to come with me peacefully?"

"I do!" Chronos stepped behind the tall cloaked figure. "Take them, my slave!"

The black-clad being moved forward fluidly, his hand raising. Booth barely had time to shout "GUN!" before Chronos's flunky was firing, green energy flying from the end of the weapon.

Booth reacted, pulling Brennan toward him, while removing his gun from her grasp as quickly as he could manage without risking breaking her finger in the trigger guard. He pushed her down, while trying to dodge the blasts from that weird ray gun and aim his own at the same time.

He got off one shot, hitting the being in the chest. It staggered backward, but didn't fall.

A second shot also didn't stop it.

The third time, Booth aimed for the head.

The bullet struck between what would have been the eyes on a normal human being. With the hood up, all Booth could see was shadow. But the effect was what he'd hoped.

The being known for so long as the Incinerator Killer slammed into the concrete of the basement floor, and was still. A single small wisp of smoke curled up from under the hood, hovering in the damp air.

Booth walked up to the thing. Using his foot he pushed the ray gun away from its grasp, then he turned to check out the others, to make sure they were all right.

Bones was on the floor, but she was getting to her feet. She nodded to him, letting him know she was all right.

Allison stood in the same place as before the shooting started, as if rooted to that spot. But she had one arm outstretched, her hand curled into a fist. Booth followed in the direction she was pointing, and grinned.

Chronos was being held up in the air, about a foot off the floor. Peter was standing in front of him, and the look on the Time Guardian's face was like looking at a stone.

"You cannot esacpe now," Peter said sharply. "We know who you are, and can track you through the time streams now. Give up, Chronos."

"Not while I have a bargaining chip," the Randomer snarled.

"You mean Parker?" Booth stepped toward the levitating murdered. "We'll find him. You and your…thing there haven't been as careful with the evidence as you might think."

"We know about the place in St. Louis," Brennan chimed in. "It's only a matter of time before we find it…oh, and the pun wasn't intended."

Chronos's face went purple. Booth had completely forgotten about the fragment of metal they'd found lodged in the breastbone of one of the victims.; it had been a special earthquake-resistant material, made in St. Louis. Trust Bones to remember and use it to their advantage.

"Can you keep him up there indefinitely?" he asked Allison, impressed despite himself.

"Not really," she answered. "He could jaunt out of my telekinetic grip easily enough."

"However," Peter added, "I was not lying when I said we could track him, wherever he went. His mental and chronometric signature is familiar to me now."

"There's no way he can escape then." Booth was satisfied. As much as he'd wanted to try the Killer in a court of law, he now knew that would be impossible. After all, how can you explain to a judge about time paradoxes and laser guns?

"Well, there's me."

Everyone turned at that voice. Booth heard Allison gasp in shock, and couldn't blame her.

Alexander MacLean stood there, gun in hand. And he looked very ready to use it.

 

* * *

 

Allison couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her knees suddenly felt weak, and it was an effort of will to keep standing. She lost her concentration, and Chronos tumbled to the concrete, grunting as he hit.

She didn't even notice.

"Alex?" she asked hesitantly.

Alex stood there, aiming a gun right at her. She didn't even recognize the expression on his face.

"I can't have you threatening my father," he answered, his voice hard.

Her gaze went to the prone figure of Chronos, lying on the floor. Her heart practically stopped as she digested the implication of that one sentence. "Your…father?"

"Of course," he said sharply. Then he smiled, and it wasn't the beautiful smile that Allison had fallen in love with; this was more like a sharks' grin. "He was the one who sent me to get close to you…see, we've always known what you are."

Allison heard Agent Booth curse, and felt too weak to do the same. Her entire life came crashing down around her; she'd thought it was so sturdy, but had turned out to be constructed of playing cards.

And she was the one who'd been played.

"We could have been the start of an entirely new race," Alex went on. "You, with your gifts…and me, with the strength of the paradox…but no, you had to get involved on the wrong side. Shame, Allison. We could have been gods!"

"It was not meant to be, my son," Chronos said, picking himself up off the floor.

"You are also of paradox," Peter accused.

Allison looked at the Time Guardian; Peter's eyes were narrowed, staring at Alex as if he were some sort of abomination.

But then, in her book he was just that.

"Well," Alex drawled, "if you mean that my mother is carrying me now, and I haven't been born yet but I'm here talking to you now, then technically I'm here in two different places…then you would be right." He motioned with the gun. "Agent Booth, please drop your weapon, then all of you against the wall."

Booth's gun hit the concrete with a clatter, as they all did as Alex bid. Allison looked at the weapon in that familiar hand, wondering if she could move fast enough to knock it aside. Her telekinesis was rusty, but she thought she could do it…

" _Not yet, Allison,"_ came Peter's mental voice.

Allison relaxed at that command. She would follow his lead; he seemed calm, unnaturally so. Allison herself was furious.

She felt used, and betrayed. Everything Alex had done had been an act, and he'd manipulated her feelings, making her fall in love with him. She'd trusted him.

And she'd told him about Greg House.

Her face flushed in a mixture of shame and rage. She'd attacked Agent Booth, thinking he'd been the one responsible…and yet it had been Alex all along. In the end, she'd been the one who'd betrayed Greg…to the man she'd thought she could most trust in the world.

"So you're Lisa Cuddy's child." Dr. Brennan didn't phrase that as a question.

For a split second, Allison didn't know what she was talking about…but then remembered that the last victim had been pregnant.

"Whoa…" Booth whispered.

Alex bowed. "I believe that was my biological mother's name, yes."

"And yet you serve the man who had her killed?" It was a question this time, and Brennan sounded incredulous.

"She was nothing," Alex answered. "Just a vessel to carry me until my true father could reclaim me."

"Your real father is a man named James Wilson," Booth pressed. "I talked to him, seemed like a nice enough guy. Certainly not at all bug-shit crazy like his son."

Alex simply rolled his eyes. "I don't expect you to understand the complexities of paradox, Agent Booth."

"Good thing," the Fed mumbled.

"So…" Allison said, her words low with anger, "what are you planning to do with us?"

"Kill the Guardian, of course," Chronos answered. "We cannot have him tracing us throughout Time."

"You think you can harm me?" Peter scoffed.

Chronos grinned widely. "Of course I do."

With that, Alex fired.

Falling back on reflexes she hadn't used in years, Allison stepped forward, her hand outstretched. In her mind, she could see the bullet's flight, and with a gesture bordering on casual she batted the projectile away with her telekinesis.

"Shit," Booth whispered in shock.

Surprise twisted Alex's face into an ugly mask, then was replaced by anger. He fired again, and Allison deflected that one as well. The bullets actually left a strange, metallic "taste" in her mind that was totally unpleasant.

Chronos laughed. "You certainly are full of surprises, my dear."

"I'm not your "dear"," Allison panted, making sure she was between the gun and her companions.

She used her power once more, to wrench the weapon from Alex's hand. He tried to hold onto it, but her mental grip was too strong. Allison sent it flying toward Agent Booth, who caught it handily, even as he managed to look totally gobsmacked.

"That's enough of that," Booth said, aiming the gun in Alex's direction.

But Allison wasn't done.

She brought her hands up once more, and her power flowed through her, as strong as she remembered it being. The telekinetic field she was generating grabbed both Alex and Chronos, lifting them both and slamming them against the wall…hard.

Everything that had happened…everything she'd done…it all rattled around her mind like ping pong balls. The guilt at her actions throughout all of this weighed on her. It was all her…she'd betrayed, and she'd hurt, and been blind to what should have been obvious.

Greg was gone because of her.

She'd assaulted Booth, when it should have been against her nature to do so.

She'd had faith in the man she'd loved…and it had been a lie. She'd been used.

And that was the worst thing of all, really.

Anger beat through her like a drum. Everything in her wanted _revenge_.

But revenge wasn't the Tomorrow People way.

Still, it didn't stop her wanting it.

Her power sang within her. Allison knew what she could do, and using that power she _squeezed_.

Alex and Chronos both began to choke.

A voice made itself known through the red haze of her fury. She could barely make out the words, but the tone she recognized.

It was calming.

It was forgiving.

It was Special Agent Seeley Booth, and he was trying to talk her out of doing something Allison knew she herself wouldn't survive.

The man moved into her field of view. She could see the fear in his eyes, even as his mouth was moving. Allison focused on the words, as they brought her back from the edge of insanity.

"It's going to be okay," were the first words she could truly make out.

Allison shook her head. "No…it's not," she denied.

"Maybe not," he backtracked, "but this isn't you. You're not a cold-blooded killer."

No, she wasn't. Not by a long shot. It wasn't in her genetic make-up to be.

And yet…she could take that step, take revenge…but she also knew it would destroy her in the process.

Did that matter, though? Did it really matter?

Allison looked at the man standing in front of her, and then to the two she was so casually pinning against the wall.

And in the end…she realized it did matter.

Booth was looking at her closely, and seemed to know her decision at the same time she came to it herself.

Alex and Chronos hit the floor, as Allison backed away.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome," the man answered.

Then he gathered her into a hug.

 

* * *

 

Peter was gone, taking Alex and Chronos with him.

Allison stared at the place where they'd been standing, before jaunting back to wherever it was that the Time Guardian would be imprisoning the Randomer and his"son". She felt hollow; events had taken so much out of her, and she couldn't even be bothered with wondering what would happen next.

So she stood there, in Alex's basement, not really caring that she wasn't alone until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned; Agent Booth stood there, looking sympathetic. "You okay?" he asked gently.

Allison sighed. "Yes…no….maybe, I don't know."

"Let's get out of here."

Booth used his hand on her shoulder to guide her from the house, Brennan walking on the other side of Allison. It was strange…the world hadn't changed at all, it was just the same as when she'd jaunted into the house in the first place. But Allison felt that things _should_ be different, that it should all be in mourning over her loss.

But time kept to its path.

She took the back seat of Booth's rental car, not speaking. There was nothing to say. But she could see him casting glances back in her direction in the rear view mirror, and it warmed her a little that he was concerned for her, even after what she'd done to him.

"He might not be, you know," she finally spoke.

"What?" Booth was confused.

"Your son," Allison clarified. "He might not be a Tomorrow Person. There hasn't been a break-out in years."

"Doesn't matter," he answered. "Parker is my son. I'd love him no matter what he was."

"You're a good man, Agent Booth. The world needs more like you."

"Yes," Brennan agreed. "It does."

Allison saw the look that passed between the two partners, and was suddenly and strangely glad that there were such people around.

And then…. _time changed_ ….

 

* * *

 

Greg House had a headache.

He didn't know what suddenly caused the flare-up of pain behind his eyes, all he knew was that it was close to migraine level and he had to screw his eyes shut against the suddenly bright light. In fact, it was so bad it actually blocked out the ever present pain in his leg…which was saying something.

"You okay?"

He heard Cameron's voice like it was miles away. House bit back a moan, wanting to deny that anything was wrong, not wanting to seem weak to her…but nothing came out.

They'd been in his office, and Cameron had been explaining that she'd sensed a new break-out – a young man named Jeremy Sanders, who was in the early stages of becoming a Tomorrow Person. She'd told him that Jeremy seemed like a nice kid, but was having problems with the side-effects of the break-out. House had been listening intently; anything that had to do with the TP interested him, and he was glad that Cameron could share this with him.

And then the pain had started. Almost like something was trying to burst out of his skull.

Cool fingers touched his temples, and a wave of peace washed through him. The agony seemed to subside enough for him to open his eyes and look up at her. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," she answered, smiling. "You get migraines often? I could actually feel the pain rolling off you."

"Not really, no." He didn't want to think about her experiencing what he did. Which was strange, because he couldn't quite pinpoint the moment when he started actually caring about that sort of thing. "What are you doing?"

Her fingers continued to stroke his head, and it was all he could do not to lean into her touch. God, he was such a sap…in more ways than one. "I'm using a bit of my energy to try to dispel the pain. I'm not really all that great at it, John is much better at it than I am…"

"No way is he touching me," House growled. "That would be icky, and it would ruin my reputation with the ladies."

"Well, we can't have that…can we?" Cameron rolled her eyes.

Suddenly, another burst of pain flared up, and House screwed his eyes shut against it. He heard Cameron gasp as well, from her contact with his head.

And suddenly, House _knew_.

He remembered _everything_.

The Incinerator Killer.

Time traveling.

The Guardians.

Chronos.

The alternate timeline.

_Shit_ …

"What the –" Cameron gasped, jerking her fingers away from his skull as if she'd been shocked. "What was that?"

House opened his mouth to reply, but movement from outside his office caught his eye. A young woman stood there. She had brunette hair and blue eyes, and was dressed in clothes that looked out of place…out of time.

And she was smiling.

It was _her_.

_Sanye_.

She was back.

House blinked, and she was gone.

"Did you see her?" he demanded, trying to come up out of his chair before the pain in his head told him to stay put.

"See who? House, what the hell is going on?"

He glanced up at her, suddenly seeing her as a blonde. No, that was just wrong…and he screwed his eyes shut on that vision.

Then he grimaced. "You are not going to believe this…"

 

* * *

 

"You shouldn't be here."

Sanye smiled. "I couldn't resist."

Peter glared at her. "We don't need any more paradoxes wandering around."

"Please…me being here is hardly going to cause that."

The elder Guardian simply stared, giving her one of those thousand-year stares.

She sighed. "I had to see them. Had to see if they were back to normal."

Peter lost his sternness. "I suppose I can understand that. But it was dangerous, Sanye."

"I know. And I won't do it again." She hoped she didn't see her crossing her fingers behind her back. "At least we were able to repair so much of the timeline."

Peter nodded. "Enough to get you back, at least."

"I didn't realize you missed me."

"I didn't really….I couldn't remember you once the timeline was corrupted."

"I thought so. Shall we go, then?"

"Indeed. This entire affair has tired me out. I'll be ready to get home, and stay there for a while."

And the two Guardians disappeared, forward into the mists of Time.


End file.
